Static Memories
by the Last Flowerchild
Summary: Years after Dethklok breaks up for good, the tragic death of Ofdensen brings them back to the Mordhaus for the final time; can Pickles and Toki survive a new, hard life with nearly no money in L.A.? Pickles/Toki slash.
1. Chapter 1

_**CHAPTER 1: THE BREAK UP**_

Bits of old, half-minute videotape was all he had remaining of his old, long forgotten life. He turned the camera on, pressed play, and laid back in his dingy, cheap motel bed. His emerald eyes were alight with tears from having to see all of those happy memories. At least they could be together again for now. Pickles felt himself about to sob as he watched the screen of the camera. It was a kid no older than twenty-one, with caramel-colored, long hair and eyes as pale as the mist; the kid looked over to the video camera, ignoring the steady madness of the carnival that was taking place behind him. "Looks, Pickle," he exclaimed, grinning broadly into the camera. "looks what I wons!"

There was a slight pause before a voice, one with a distinctly Wisconsin flair to it, replied, shaking the video camera unintentionally, "Great jab; can we go home now? I hate the fair."

"But Pickle, we—" the screen was overtaken by static and the voice of Toki became distorted and repeated, "But Pickle, we ams having fun? Don't you like fun?"

The drummer's voice replied to the guitarist, "Nat this kinda fun…" and there was more static on the screen and then the camera picked up filming at another location, at another time completely. Now the whole band was gathered in a circle backstage at a concert, making an impassable barrier between their musical genius and the rest of the world.

Now Pickles wasn't holding the camera, it was Toki. He shakily pointed it at Skwisgaar and prodded, "Ams you nervous?" The Swede put some of his long, blond hair behind his ears and sneered down at his Norwegian companion.

"Nos way, now turns that stupid camera offs before I—"

"Whats about you, Pickle?" Toki inquired as the camera brought the drummer into view. "Ams you nervous? There ams a lot of people back there."

The redhead shrugged nonchalantly and drank some from the bottle he was holding. "Nah, nat one bit."

"Nathans ams you—"

"Toki, put the damn camera away!" the singer growled, reaching out to get it. Toki backed away and the screen was over taken by static for another moment before becoming clear again. Now Murderface was in view for a moment.

He glared at Toki and lisped in his usual manner, "_I _didn't wanna get him the shtupid camera, but you guysh had to get it for him anyway, and now he won't shtop!"

"What about you, dude?" Pickles cut in, taking the camera from Toki and aiming it at the Norwegian.

He was half drunk, so the picture was unsteady and dizzying as the guitarist bit his lower lip and announced bravely, "Nopes, I ams not nervous."

"Nat even a little bit?"

He shook his head and insisted, "Nots even a littles."

The scene disappeared in waves of new, fresh static appeared. In a moment the camera was shut off and thrown onto the floor of a dingy room. Pickles let his eyes close and slowly he covered his face with his hands. The hotel he was staying in was a more than run-down, it was a complete wreck. The camera was now laying amongst numerous cheap beer cans and empty bags that had once been occupied by a hit or two of crack. Ever since _Dethklok _had broken up the drummer had disappeared into the shadiest depths of L.A., and, not quite knowing what else to do or how to pick up the remaining pieces of his ruined life, he had lost himself in a world of cheap alcohol and crack. Now all he had left to remember that old life by was snippets and 30-second clips from the band's old home movies. Pickles glared down at the video camera and spat ruefully, "Fuckin' bullshit…why ain't I dead yet?"

He often spent his time contemplating his now meaningless and disgusting existence. He was something below the realm of a 'regular jack-off'; he was pathetic, desperately stumbling thru each day as though it was the only time he had left to spend on this Earth. Sometimes he prayed for death, especially when he was getting his cheap thrills from the drugs he spent his money on. It was the only pleasure he had left, the only thing worth any small value in the world. Pickles laid on his the moth-eaten, ratty sheets of his hotel bed thinking of this now. He wondered in some deep, dark part of his brain—or what was left of his brain after so many forty-eight-hour crack binges—what had become of the rest of the band. He was quite sure that they'd all returned to their parent's home after breaking apart. The only reason that the drummer himself hadn't gone seeking refuge at his parent's house was because he had decided long ago that he'd rather be dead than begging them for anything, especially a place to live. Pickles sighed and opened himself up a can of beer. He took a deep sip from it, grimaced at the strong, burning taste, then placed the can shakily on the little table beside his bed.

The drummer remembered the last few moments he'd spent with the band before they all caught their separate flights and left for…wherever. He'd mostly spent it with Toki, trying to tell him that it was okay. Despite everything, all the fighting that the band had been doing during their last few months, the Norwegian had still seemed sorrowful as he watched Skwisgaar walk away with his many suitcases of luggage and leave. He had tried so hard to put on a brave face, to show everyone that he was still bitter over the many insults that he'd received and the fight's he'd been a part of, but Pickles had been able to easily see thru this. Before he had gotten on his own plane back to L.A., he'd gone up to Toki and pulled him into a quick, cautious hug. Nathan was still with them, after all, and so the policy of brutality was still in effect no matter how idiotic it was.

"S'gonna be okay, dude."

Toki had scoffed, acted indignant to the drummer's attempt to comfort him. "Ja, I knows that."

Pickles awkwardly shrugged, let his green eyes, which were now so full of remorse—sure, the band hadn't been getting along, but they could've worked it out, right?—and sorrow drop to the floor. "Where are you gonna end up when it's all over with?"

The guitarist thought for a moment then said almost bitterly, "Backs with my mom, I guess."

"What're you gonna do for money?"

"Gets a job."

Pickles nodded. "Yeah, cool." What more was there to be said? Nothing, but still he couldn't bring himself to leave, not like this. Without restraint, he pulled Toki into another hug and whispered in his ear, "Be careful."

Toki didn't act strong or angry now; he held the drummer close to him and said, his voice breaking horribly, "I really don't wants to go back to that place." The redhead knew that by 'that place' the guitarist meant his old childhood home. Pickles became fearful at the thought of Toki going back there again. The Norwegian had spent so many long, painful days there growing up…the thought of him going back was a truly frightening one.

"S'okay dude," was all he could think to say. "It's gonna be fine."

"I'm still reallys pissed off abouts everything—Nathans, Skwisgaar...why do we haves to breaks up? I know that everyone ams mad, but that doesn't mean that we can't works it out like we did befores, does it?"

Pickles didn't respond to this. Instead he gently patted Toki's shoulder, ended the hug, then turned away. "G'bye, dude. It's been great." And he walked away. He had a flight to catch, and if he was late then that would mean he'd miss it and be stuck here for another night, trying to bring more false comfort to poor Toki.

: :: :: ::: : ::: : :: :: :

Now Pickles laid there on his bed drinking and trying not to cry. Honestly, what was this life that he lived now? It was a pitiful trick to distract him from his real, horrible existence—all of the cheap drugs, the booze, the endless hours he spent glued to that video camera watching little scraps of static videotape. The all amounted to nothing. That's it, there was no point. Gradually the drummer got up out of bed and went to look out of the dusty window of the hotel. His money had run out months ago and he wouldn't be able to afford another night in the cock-roach ridden place. His funds were exhausted and so was he. Pickles ran his fingers along the cool glass, closed his eyes. He could do it, couldn't he? He was on the sixth floor, just above a busy street…the people, the stupid people who once idolized him, who were once his fans, would scream out as his body hit the pavement with a loud and sick crack. As he imagined the brutality of the scene, he couldn't help but to smile a little.

Toki had probably killed himself already, slit his wrists, overwhelmed by the memories of his painful and forgotten childhood…Skwisgaar was most likely dying slowly, working a stupid, dead-end job like any other regular jack-off…Murderface was a joke. He was better off dead…Nathan. Nathan was a complicated case; he was tough, brutal, harsh and unyielding in his hatred and remorse for the world. That alone probably meant that society and the pressure of living a regular life might not have driven him to self-destruction…yet. It would, though. Pickles supposed that he'd just be someone that they all thought back to—the drunk redhead, the one who transferred all of the anger and bitterness he'd experienced thru his life onto a simple, harmless drum kit. He was pathetic.

Pickles opened up the window, let the cool air of night caress his face. He gripped the windowsill so tightly that his knuckles turned white; his whole body became ridged as he proceeded to climb up on the sill. The drummer teetered on the edge, embracing the steady feeling of death and utter hopelessness that was slowly filling his heart. Just let go….just let go, just fall…_die. DIE. _End it before it ends you. What was 'it' exactly, Pickles didn't know, but he did know that he needed to put an end to 'it'—to everything. Just as he shut his eyes and prepared for his six-story free fall, the phone rang. Pickles cursed and tried to do it again, but he just couldn't. Now he was distracted and annoyed; so the world didn't even respect him enough to let him commit a peaceful suicide? That seemed about right.

Angrily, he jumped off the windowsill and stumbled over to the telephone. He picked it up and spat, "Yeah, whadda want, dildo?"

"Is this Pickles?" the voice was deep, familiar. It sounded unsure and hesitant, almost as if it were afraid to find the person it was seeking to talk with.

The drummer rolled his eyes, took another sip of beer, and said, "Yeah, so what? Who is 'dis and whadda want? I'm busy."

"Can't you spare fucking five seconds, you idiot?"

Suddenly Pickles' mind flashed back to the last time that he and Nathan had spoken. The singer and glared at him, said venomously, 'Can't you spare five fucking seconds to say goodbye, you idiot?' Now the drummer sighed and rubbed his tired, burning eyes. "Hey, Nathan. Sorry. What's up?"

"It's Ofdensen…you remember Ofdensen, right?"

"Yeah, dildo. I ain't that stupid."

Nathan said under his breath, "Don't be too sure…"

Pickles threw his half-empty beer can onto the carpet, unable to contain his temper anymore. "Look, if all you did was call to insult me, then—"

"I wouldn't have wasted my time. Do you know how hard it was tracking down this hotel number?"

"Then why the hell did you call?"

The voice on the other end of the line faltered but finally said, "Ofdensen…something happened…"

Pickles felt his heart turn to ice. He swallowed, tried to keep from sounding too scared as he asked into the phone, "What about him? He's okay, right? I mean, nothin' happened to him or—"

"He's dead."

The drummer let out a little surprised gasp and began shaking his head. A thousand thoughts—mostly memories of how Charles Ofdensen had put his neck out on the line for him and the rest of the band—filled his brain as he sputtered, "I don't…what? How—I mean, he was just…he called me last week, asked how I was, if I was okay and if he could do somethin' for me…"

Nathan's deep, harsh voice said, "I know. He called me last month and we talked. He was a good guy, really cared about us, I guess…" his voice trailed off as he thought aloud, "I wonder if he called Toki and Skwisgaar? Wouldn't it cost a lot to call them in Norway and Sweden?"

Pickles was still in shock. He let himself fall onto his bed. "I…I don't get 'dis at all…how did he die?"

"It was an accident—he had a little too much of that expensive brandy crap he always used to drink and—"

"But why are you callin' me?" was the drummer's next question. "If you hate me so much, why didn't you just let me watch the damn news and find out?"

"Because I…" Nathan took a moment to pull his thoughts together before sighing tirelessly and saying, "You know he still managed to own the Mordhaus, don't you? He still was able to keep it even after we broke up."

"Okay, so?"

"He left a will."

"So what the hell does 'dis have to do with me?" Pickles decided that he needed another drink, so he got up and opened another beer.

"We're all in it—you, me, Murderface, Skwisgaar, Tok—"

"What the fuck are you talkin' about?" he howled in frustration. Why couldn't anything be simple? Why did it seem as though the more time he spent on this shitty Earth, the more his life became complicated. Suicide was complicated, getting high was complicated, and now…

"He said he wanted all of us to have a part of it—of the house—but he didn't say _which _parts."

Something in the drummer's mind seemed to click. He began shaking; he wanted to vomit and hang up, but something inside of him restrained him from doing this. "So you're all gettin' back together again?"

"Yeah, and we'd really appreciate it if you were there with us to sort all of this bullshit out." Nathan said. His voice was full of that old, dull anger and hatred for the man that he was talking to as he added, "Ofdensen would've wanted that—for all of us to be together again, don't you think?"

: :: :: ::: : ::: : :: :: :

"Boys, let's just please consider everything that we're putting in jeopardy by-" Ofdensen began, but he was drowned out by the yelling of _Dethklok. _Skwisgaar and Toki were yelling, as were Murderface, Nathan, and Pickles.

"You never lets me have anything, you fuckins prick!" Skwisgaar howled. Toki rolled his eyes and scoffed loudly at this.

"Are you kidding me? I've given you _everythings, _you ungrateful bitch! I've given up most of my careers just to makes sure your huge ego ams satisfied! I'm sicks of it! I want credit for all the songs I writes myself-"

"You don't writes none!"

"You knows I've thrown in lines heres and there, but you just takes them and steals them from me, just like everythings else!"

"You do _not _write songs, you fucking retard!" Nathan argued, slamming his fists down on the table. "When will you get it thru your thick, useless head that we really don't need you at all?"

"Don't you fuckin' _dare _yell at him, you asshole!" Pickles broke in, rushing to Toki's side. "The kid's right, he's thrown ideas at us, but all we ever do is make him feel like crap. I'm sick of 'dis bullshit—you're nat the only one in the world who has talent, Nat'n! All you ever do is come up with stupid, bullshit lyrics and scream 'dem into a mic to make money!"

"Boys, please, let's all just-"

"It'sh more than you do," Murderface blurted, pushing the drummer roughly away from Toki. "You're fulla shtupid ideash—you're drunk half the time we need to play, and on top of it all you shtick up for _him?" _he motioned to the Norwegian and cried, "That'sh a load of crap! Everyone shticksh up for _him, _becaushe he'sh like a damn kid, he'sh innocent, he'sh-"

"Shut your fuckin' mouth!" Pickles demanded, his hands balling into fists. "Don't talk about Toki! He's-"

"A total, useless idiots who gets free ride just 'cause he ammnest goods with the ladies!" Skwisgaar cut him off. "They swoon over hims for no reason! It ammnest pathetics! 'He ams adorables', they says. Fucks that shit!"

"Will you all please sit down?" Ofdensen pleaded. All of his screams for order were met with even more yelling; Nathan tried to strangle Murderface, and Skwisgaar attempted to smack Toki. The Norwegian flinched back, but he needn't have done this, because in a moment Pickles was in front of him hitting the Swede in the ribs.

"I said don't touch him, nobody even think ab-" Nathan had delivered a firm punch to the drummer's stomach. Within a few seconds the whole room had descended into chaos, and before anyone knew what was happening—before even Ofdensen could react to the situation—Toki was on the ground with a bloody nose and a mouthful of blood. In the end nobody would be able to recall if they'd been the one to almost knock the rhythm guitarist out, only that it had been done as Toki turned and tried to stop the fighting.

This finally seemed to signal the end of the punching, kicking, and name-calling. Everyone was brought back to reality, and they all grew gravely silent. Pickles quietly tried to help the Norwegian up, and Ofdensen did the same. Toki just rose up on his own, wiped the blood off on his shirt, then declared, his pale eyes teary and full of hurt, "Is quit."

Skwisgaar nodded and looked down at his boots; he said in a nearly inaudible voice, "Ja, mes too."

"I wanna quit." Murderface chimed in.

"And so do I." Nathan said. They all looked deliberately away from each other, awaiting the next words to be said. Pickles, on the other hand, stared from one man to the other—from Murderface to Nathan, from Nathan to Skwisgaar, and from Skwisgaar to Toki. The rhythm guitarist was trembling, sniffling and trying hard not to allow himself to cry. Pickles felt a firm lump forming in his throat, and for an instant he felt something he hadn't felt in years—the urge to sob.

"I...uh..." he cleared his throat, tried to dismiss his sorrow, but found himself unable to. "I guess 'dat I'm done too, then."

Ofdensen somehow knew that this had been coming for a while, because he seemed oddly nonchalant about the whole situation. Instead of doing what he had done before—trying to urge them to stick together, to apologize—he just nodded coolly and straightened his tie. "Of course you're all done; I expected as much. I'll make the arrangements." he proceeded to walk out of the room, but the voice of Toki stopped him.

"W-Whats you mean 'arrangements-es'?"

"For you to go home; you can't all live here if there's no _Dethklok." _strangelyenough, Ofdensen's the normally robotic and monotone voice broke then, and he glanced over his shoulder back at the band, fighting back tears. "I'd hoped that you could all be mature and-" he cut himself off and made a swift exit before anyone could read further into his dismay.

Once everything was over, they all walked shamefully out of the room, knowing deep down inside of them that this was the best thing for everyone—or at least they _hoped _it was.

: :: :: ::: : ::: : :: :: :

****A/N****

**Wow...it's been a while since I last put up a story. Sorry, but life finally caught up with me, and summer's over. My senior year of high school has started, and so I'm trying to keep my head above water in these last few long, excruciating months of academic learning. After that? I don't really know, but I'll still try to keep putting stuff up. Hope you liked this first chapter. Trust me, it will be better, and a little happier. Anyways, I've been chewing over this story for months, so I've finally decided to post it. Hope it's a good are appreciated.**

**PEACE & LOVE**


	2. Chapter 2

_**CHAPTER 2: TOGETHER AGAIN**_

A trip to India to play a show, one of many. The video camera was rolling, showing images of them arriving, being greeted by thousands of fans. "I never thoughts we had so many fans ins India," Toki commented innocently, biting his lower lip in an absurd display of nervousness. Skwisgaar just laughed.

"Ja, we gots lots and lots of ladies fans-es here, toos...ones who knows all the good ways to haves sex."

Murderface grinned at this. "I think that I jusht might have to live here, then."

Toki just arched a brow and asked innocently, "What means you 'good ways to haves sex'? Ams it not all good?"

Static—another scene of the band arriving at the banks of the Ganges river. Skwisgaar was aiming the video camera carefully at Toki as they all walked up to the swirling, murky water and stared down into its seemingly endless depths. "So the people here worship this river?" Nathan asked curiously, peering down into it a little closer. He almost had a thoughtful look on his face.

From a ways away Ofdensen, who was supervising them all, called out, "In a way, yes; please just try to behave yourselves. Treat the river with respe-"

"Shtupid dildosh all bathing and pisshing in that water! That'sh why they're all sho shick in Shouth America!" Murderface proclaimed; for an instant the camera flashed over to him, then back over to Toki. The Norwegian was smiling cleverly, and he reached over and gently tugged at Pickles' shirt.

"Cans we swims ins it?"

The drummer laughed and shook his head. "Nah, dude, I don't think 'dat we can do 'da-" before he could even finish his sentence, a wave of static overtook the screen. Once the picture was able to be salvaged, images of Toki and the rest of the band swimming in the river without shirts could be seen. They all laughed, threw water on each other, pulled one another under water, and cursed like there was nothing in the world that could possibly ruin the moment—nothing like death or pain. The only important thing was that they were alive and having fun right then. It seemed as though nothing in the world could hurt them.

: :: :: ::: : ::: : :: :: :

Pickles watched the video from the camera all during his long flight to his old home. He felt dizzy now, sick and nauseous. He wanted so badly to find a way to turn the plane around so that he might go back to his normal, pitiful existence—if it could be called that at all—but deep down he knew that he was doing the right thing. He'd flown across oceans to different countries before, but still this was the longest flight of his life. Finally he reached the Mordhaus; he walked up the huge, intimidating front doors and halted. His hand was poised, ready to turn the doorknob, but something held him back. Pickles closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. The last time that his fingers had come in contact with the cold metal of the knob? When he'd been about to leave his rock star life behind...

"Hey, are you alive, or what?"

Pickles' eyes reopened and he saw the huge, hulking figure of Nathan standing in front of him. In an instant he was drained of all emotions except bitter anger and resentment. "Wouldn't matter to you if I was, would it?" he picked up his one suitcase full of clothes and pushed passed the old singer into the house. He looked around, an expression of utter contempt on his face. The walls of the Mordhaus, once so clean and without a spot of discoloration, were now peeling and wretched. The floor beneath him was cracked and had signs of dirty shoe prints on it. He arched a pierced brow and inquired, "He sure let the place go, huh?"

"He tried his best for us, fuckface." Nathan growled, taking a firm hold of the redhead's arm, roughly leading him thru the lobby. "Everyone else's already here." he explained, walking swiftly down a long, narrow hall. "We were all waiting here for you. Murderface said you wouldn't show up, but Toki insisted that we wait."

Pickles' heart skipped a beat for a moment. He felt his face turning red as he repeated stupidly, "T-Toki?"

Nathan said nothing in response, merely just lead Pickles to a room. The door was already opened, revealing the old conference room. Pickles smiled as he remembered all of the business meetings Ofdensen had dragged them in there for; they'd all texted each other or slept. Now he hardly recognized anyone in the room. It wasn't that they _looked _all that different—although they were all a considerable bit more pathetic than he remembered them being—but more that they just looked so damn spiteful.

Murderface sat in his old seat, looking just as bad as ever, and Skwisgaar was there, too. The Swede hadn't completely lost his former beauty, but it certainly was hidden beneath the resentful look he had shining out of his now dulled, dark blue eyes. His blond hair was greasy, pulled back into a sloppy ponytail, and it was a few inches shorter than it had been years ago. Pickles' green eyes flashed over to the last man in the room—Toki. His mouth fell open. His once innocent, childish friend was gone, replaced by a creature whose beautiful features were mauled with piercings of all kinds; one going thru his lip, another two thru each one of his eyebrows, multiple earrings, one penetrating his nose...his pale blue eyes were rimmed with dark, smudged eyeliner, and he now wore blacker than black jeans with a tight, dingy shirt, one that showed just how perfectly flat his stomach was. A pentagram was clearly etched on the dark fabric in blood red.

He glared over at the drummer and said in a perpetual tone of hatred, "Looks who finally decided to shows up. Nice job gettings here two fuckings hours late, asshole."

Pickles felt himself grow weak at the knees. He leaned heavily against the door frame and asked breathlessly, _"T-Toki?"_

The Norwegian narrowed his eyes at him and demanded, "Ja, sos what? Why're you starings at me like that? Ams you stupid now or somethings?"

"I...uh..." he didn't quite know what to say to this, so instead of continuing to speak with the old guitarist, he turned to Nathan and asked, " 'Kay, so what now? I'm glad 'dat you guys waited an me and everything, but wadda we do now?"

"Whatever it ams, we'd better hurry up and dos it." Skwisgaar said huffily, crossing his arms over his chest. "I only tooks off, like, three days from workings, so I gots to go back to Sweden as soons as I can or I'll gets fired."

Pickles couldn't believe what he'd heard just then. He shifted his attention to the Swede and asked incredulously, _"You _gat a jab?"

"Ja. How else ammnest I goings to pays the bills fors my family?"

"Are you kiddin' me?" he scoffed, "You have a family now, and a jab? No fuckin' way, I don't believe i-"

"Well get over it and come here." Nathan said, walking over and taking a seat at the huge table. Pickles, seeing that there was nowhere else besides Ofdensen's old, empty seat to sit in and one next to Toki, elected to go over and steal a spot next to the Norwegian, despite his hesitation.

For some unholy reason the Norwegian now terrified him; perhaps it was the bloody pentagram on his shirt, or the fact that everything—including his tongue—was pierced. Or maybe it was just the murderous scowl that he had on his face. The old guitarist flashed Pickles a look of cold, unreal hatred and scooted his chair about a foot away from him. This didn't deter the redhead, though. He simply moved a little closer to him and grinned, despite his better judgment.

"Heya, dude. How's life been for you? Do you gat a jab and a family, too?"

Toki rolled his eyes at this and let out a hissing, "Gos to hell, you fucking prick."

"Dude, I'm sorry if I made you mad or anything, but-"

"Gets the hell away from me!" he insisted, pushing the drummer back roughly. "Your breath smells likes cheap booze and pukes, so just leaves me alone!"

Pickles let a puzzled look come over his face. Toki had once been one of his best friends, and now...now he didn't quite know what was going on. Cautiously he moved back away from him and settled himself. Nathan cleared his throat, presented a bunch of legal forms for them all to see, and began talking. He discussed how he'd had a lawyer come down and tell him what the complicated will of Charles Foster Ofdensen meant, and he also added in that, no matter what, their old manager had clearly written that they not fight over what remained of the Mordhaus. He'd spent his last cent trying to build it up to government standards before he died; he'd spent his whole life trying to keep the place in his name, so that one day he had something to leave behind for his 'family', his sons. Thru all of the complex and legal language that Ofdensen had been so accustomed to using, he somehow managed to make it clear that he had, and always would, love the boys very much, even though he hadn't shown it very often.

In the end, Nathan concluded with, "He said that he wanted us to all have a share of whatever we wanted in the house—furniture, recording equipment, booze—_anything." _he paused, glanced down at his copy of the will and added, "We have forty-eight hours to get our shit together and haul ass before this place is demolished for good by the government."

Pickles felt himself becoming quite overwhelmed as he repeated, "Forty-eight hours? 'Dat's like what— two days?"

"It will takes us that long just to remember where our rooms ams!" Toki protested, glaring at Nathan. "That's totals fuckings bullshit!"

"Well that's all the time we have, and we should be glad we have at least that much." he said in his harsh voice. There was a long, heavy moment of silence in which Nathan let out a deep, rumbling sigh and then gathered up the legal documents. Finally he dared to break the silence. "I guess that's it. We all know why we're here, so just all of you fuck off. This doesn't mean that we're back together or anything, so don't go around thinking that." for some reason he chose to focus his intense, black gaze on Pickles before continuing. "I don't want anyone screwing anyone else over; if two of us want the same thing, we'll work it out like adults. I wanna see as little of your ugly faces as possible, so after this point I'll be avoiding all of you." he turned towards the door and smiled to himself.

"You act like we wanna shee you." Murderface lisped, rolling his eyes and rising to his feet. "Fuck that. I hate all you pusshysh."

"Shut your fuckings mouth." Skwisgaar demanded before exiting the room quickly and silently.

They departed for God knew where; Pickles' mind was buzzing. He didn't even know where to begin. Just before Toki walked out the door, he called to him, "Hey, wait—where're you gonna start?"

The Norwegian's pale, frighteningly cold gaze met the drummer's. He shrugged and said with a kind of unprovoked anger, "How the fuck ams I supposed to know? Why does someone always have to tell you what to do, like you're a dog or somethings? I don't care what yous do, just don't come looking for me."

: :: :: ::: : ::: : :: :: :

"Fuckin' great," Pickles mumbled to himself as he walked aimlessly around the endless expanse of the inner Mordhaus. "real fuckin' great, now what?" His mind was screaming, reminding him of how little time there was left to wrap up this chapter of his life for good—did he want to? His legs were leading him in a direction that he didn't know; all that he was aware of was that he required so many things from this place, so many more things than a mere two-day period would allow him to recover...so many more things than just utter objects. A flicker of emotion had been sparked when he'd spoken with Toki, a mere remembrance of a fire that had never quite died down inside of his chest.

He realized now that he hadn't been completely frightened by the Norwegian's new clothes and hateful outlook, but more just disturbed that someone that was once so pure, so affectionate could be turned into this creeping, bloodthirsty beast of a human. Pickles kept his head down as he walked, felt tears pricking the corners of his eyes. An old feeling of utter hopelessness and depression struck him then, just as his hand came in contact with the cool metal of a doorknob. He turned it mindlessly, walked in, and automatically found the light switch. He didn't realize that he was in his old room until he'd crunched over empty beer bottles all the way over to his bed. The mattress sank and squeaked unsteadily as he fell into it lifelessly. Only then, as the scent of his covers—vomit and alcohol—burned his nostrils, did he bother to lift his head and look around.

Yes, this was where he needed to be. Before he went back home and blew his brains out or took a six-story dive he'd spend his last hours of life here. With a smile on his face the redhead sat up and looked around the room. It had remained untouched. The empty bottles of tequila and vodka glimmered in the little bit of sunlight that streamed in from his moth-eaten curtains. Thin layers of dust covered everything from his mirror to his t.v. remote, and he couldn't help but notice that over in a corner of his room there was a pile of discarded, dirty clothes. Slowly he rolled out of bed, like he'd always done years ago, and made his way over to his dresser.

Without knowing quite what he was doing, he began rooting thru it. One thing struck his interest. There, buried beneath unfolded, sloppy piles of his old shirts, in a drawer that was so overstuffed that he'd almost not been able to pry it open, was an aged printed picture of him with a certain young guitarist. The rest of the band was there, but he blocked them out and just focused on that one special portion of the photo. Toki was clearly a little drunk, because he was hugging Pickles closely and smiling happily at him. He didn't quite know why, but for some reason that crumpled, discolored picture was the best thing he'd ever seen in his life, and before he knew it he was crying.

: :: :: ::: : ::: : :: :: :

After the search of his room was competed Pickles discovered that he had enough keepsakes to fill a plastic Wal-Mart bag. He didn't quit searching for things, either. The more he walked thru the decaying halls of the Mordhaus, the sadder he became. Who knew? Maybe he'd just hang himself here, in this house that he loved so much, cut off from the real world altogether. Maybe Toki would find his body hanging from the rafters, swinging limply from a noose. Maybe that would snap him back to normal...maybe...

He entered the recording studio and began searching without really looking to see if anyone else was already there. Just as his hand fell on an old Gibson Flying-V, he received a swift blow to the cheek, and fell back. Once he managed to regain his senses, he was shocked to see Toki standing before him, clutching the guitar closely to his chest.

"Mines," he said in a hostile tone, "I wants it."

"O-Okay," he said, nodding in agreement, taking a few steps away from the other man, "go ahead, I don't mind. I'm sorry, I didn't think anyone else was-"

"You've been crying." he observed, a cruel smile on his face. Pickles shrugged.

"Yeah, so what? This isn't exactly a party, is it? Don't tell me 'dat you haven't cried since you've been here."

Toki proudly shook his head and answered, "Nopes, never even one tear. Crying ams for little bitches. I don't dos that anymore." he turned and prepared to begin rooting thru more things. Pickles just stood there feeling numb.

Finally he worked up the courage to say, "What happened to you, dude?"

The old guitarist glanced over his shoulder, his anger temporarily melting into childish misunderstanding. "Whats ams you talking about?"

"You—whatever this is you're doin'-it's totally wrong, don't you get it?" Pickles asked desperately, trying to get Toki to remember the old, better times when he'd been so innocent and carefree. "What happened to you?"

"I grews up." he responded, continuing to look thru the recording studio stuff. "Everyone has to grows up, you idiot."

"But you're nat grown up, you're a dick!"

"Excuse me?" he rose up, dropped what he was doing, and got within an inch of the drummer's face. "Whats did you just say to me?"

Pickles was taken aback by fear for a moment, but this subsided when he glanced into the shimmering, pale eyes of the Norwegian and recognized a kind of dull fear there. He could tell just then how utterly terrified Toki was, how badly he wanted to break down and cry, how hard it was to hold in his emotions. Although the drummer wanted so badly to help him, all he could bring himself to do was push Toki back a few feet and repeat, "You're nat grown up, you're just a dick. I don't know why you've changed, why you're actin' like this, but I don't like it. I miss the old you. Sure, everybody else's changed, but I didn't think that you would. I thought you'd just wanna be with me like you used to—I thought we'd hook up again and chill out, laugh, y'know, be friends."

"That ams a childish thing to want." Toki said coolly. "Friends, laughing—it ams just stupid kid's stuffs. I don't dos that anymore."

"Obviously nat." he commented, turning away and beginning to make his way back up the stairs.

Before he left, Toki let out a little gasp and asked almost fearfully, "Wait! Where ams you goings?"

Pickles peered over at him and arched a pierced brow. "Does it matter t'you?"

He quickly caught himself and shook his head. "Fucks no, it ams just that..."

"What?"

"N-Nothings." he struggled to say, returning his attention back to his old Gibson guitar. Sadly he plucked at the strings, and Pickles could make out the smallest glimmer of tears in his eyes.

"Toki, are you-"

"Just leaves me alone."

"But-"

"Fucks off! I don't needs you!" he howled, trying in desperation to hide his sorrowful expression. "I don't needs anybody—nots you, nots God, nots Ofdensen..._nobody."_

Pickles nodded like he understood, but nothing within him really did. Why Toki was rebelling so violently against him and any kind of emotion whatsoever was a mystery to him. It hurt him not to know what was wrong with the younger man, but he knew there was nothing that could be done about it, so he just replied simply, "Yeah, sure, 'dat's fine, but if you ever do need anybody to talk to or just sit with, I'm here." a slight pause then he asked softly, almost tenderly, "Alright?"

"Ja." Toki said flatly, sniffling.

And the two left each other alone to weep.

: :: :: ::: : ::: : :: :: :

Later that day, Pickles happened to run into Nathan in the kitchen. He had been searching for his old coffee cup, one that was a skull with his goatee and dreadlocks. What he found instead was the singer digging in an old cabinet in search of something himself. Their eyes locked, and each looked away awkwardly for a moment.

"I...uh...wanted t'get somethin'." Pickles mumbled shyly, putting his hands in his pockets. Nathan just rolled his eyes and stepped away from where he'd been looking.

"Fine, go ahead. I don't give a fu-"

"Aren't you sorry?" he'd been holding the question since he'd first arrived at the Mordhaus, but now it just slipped out before he could help it. Of course it had been nagging his brain for a long time, making him bitter and angry, eating away at his self-confidence. The last thing that the singer had said to him had been unforgettable.

Nathan, however, was clearly unmoved by this. He just arched a brow and asked, "Sorry about what?"

"What you said to me, all those fuckin' times we fought."

"I'm not the one who should be sorry, it should be you."

Pickles' jaw dropped. He asked incredulously, "Wh-What d'you mean _I'm _the one who should be sorry? You were the one who said-"

"The truth, you idiot. I said the truth." Nathan interrupted. "I said what everyone else had already said already, only I said it to your face instead of behind your back. You should be thanking me for doing you a favor." He felt his face burning with both anger and embarrassment. Just as he opened his mouth to say something else, the singer asked impatiently, "So what was it you came in hear looking for? Would you find it already and get the fuck outta here and leave me alone?"

Realizing that the longer he stood there trying to argue his point, the stupider and more immature he appeared to be, Pickles quickly composed himself and nodded. "Uh yeah, sure—my old coffee cup, the one 'dat we gat doin' the jingle? Where're those?"

"Here." Nathan said, reaching into the back of the cabinet. It took him about a minute or two of digging to finally bring out the old coffee cup. The forehead was chipped, had a large crack in it, and one dreadlock was missing, but other than that it was in good shape. He threw it carelessly over to the drummer and said, "I was in here getting mine, too. If that's all you wanted, then would you mind getting the hell away from m-"

"Heys, Pickle!" Skwisgaar called, bursting into the kitchen with a worried look on his thin face. "You needs to go and finds Murderface quick; he-"

"Whadda I gatta go see him for?" the redhead asked moodily.

Skwisgaar motioned to the entrance of the kitchen and said hurriedly, "Because I just saw hims grabbing some stuff with your names on it, and figured that you'd wants it—you'd better hurrys up before he puts it in hims suitcase, or you'll never gets it ba-"

But Pickles was already out the door. He ran down the hall, took a left, then blindly turned right. He didn't know where the old bassist's room was, but perhaps if he was lucky he'd find it. He didn't desire the stuff that much at all, but he wanted to teach Murderface a lesson. It was his stuff, after all, and he didn't want the disgusting hands of the other man even going near them. Without much care, he burst into what he recalled to be Murderface's old room. The bassist stood there by his bed, throwing an old pair of drumsticks into his already overstuffed suitcase. When he saw that he was being watched, he abruptly closed it and grinned guiltily.

"Oh, hey Picklesh, what'sh-"

"Give 'em back."

"Give what back? I didn't take-"

"Give back my stuff or I'll..." what would he do? Honestly, he didn't really have the power or the strength to do much of anything anymore. Drugs had taken away most of his muscle and without his old supply of alcohol or crack he was tired and shaky, weak and desperate—like now. Realizing that there really was nothing that he could do, Pickles sighed and looked down. "Look, just give back my stuff, please."

Murderface walked up to him, was less than an inch away from his face. _"Pleash? _Did you jusht shay pleash?"

"Yeah," he answered snappishly, "I did, so why don't you just-"

"Where'sh your booze, Picklesh?" he asked dangerously, pushing the drummer back against the wall roughly. "Where'sh your fucking heroin and coke now? What're you gonna do if I don't give it back? Throw a fit and cry to Nathan, or jusht go running to Toki and make him kick my assh for you?"

"Get away from me!" he yelled, his voice breaking uncontrollably as he tried to push Murderface back. "I just want my stuff!"

"Well you're not getting it, shtupid! That old crap's going straight on eBay once I get back home." Murderface threatened, hitting Pickles hard in the stomach. The redhead doubled over for a moment, his eyes watering, and had to struggle not to cry right then—it seemed as if he'd been having to struggle a lot, lately. Instead of displaying his emotions, he found it in him to push Murderface back with all of his strength. This made him laugh and only stagger back a foot or so.

"What, that'sh _it? _That'sh really the besht you can do? Fuck, you're not even worth it anymore—how much shit do you have to shnort and shmoke to end up like you?"

"I don't sniff nothin'," he said miserably, "no more coke or any expensive crap—only crack and cheap booze."

"You're really the shaddesht one outta all of ush."

"Shut up and gimme back my stuff."

"And the worsht part ish that Toki won't even shtick up for you anymore. He'sh-"

"Goings to kill you if you don'ts gives me back my stuff."

They both looked over at the door and were surprised to see the Norwegian standing there in the doorway, a sneer of pure disgust on his pretty face. Pickles swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat, banished his shame, and asked happily, "T-Toki? What're you doin' here?"

He ignored this question and came over to them, moving as smoothly and as threateningly as a viper. He slunk up to Murderface, his hands poised and tense, ready to draw blood with his long, black-painted, sharpened nails. "You takes something whats is mine, now give it back."

"But," Murderface began, "I-"

"_Nows." _he stood there blocking Pickles from the bassist's fists, protecting him like he'd never done before. He was a terrifying sight there in his black make-up, his teeth exposed and almost snarling in an animalistic fashion at his opponent. He looked like a wild beast ready to kill, to bite out the throat of a rival.

"I—how did you know I took anything?" he asked nervously, making his way back over to his suitcase. He began unzipping it, never taking his gaze away from Toki. "Did shomeone tell you?"

"Nos," he said, grinning murderously, "I was walking downs the hall lookings for something to kill and I smelled _it..."_

"What _it?" _Murderface inquired, swallowing.

Toki answered, his icy eyes gleaming with pleasure, "Your blood."

"Here, take anything you want! I don't care, jusht don't kill me!" he howled, throwing the entire suitcase over at Toki's feet and hurrying to the door. The Norwegian reached out and caught his arm, squeezed it hard, let his claws dig into the bassist's soft flesh and nearly draw blood.

"If you evers take Pickle's things again..."

"Wait, thish ish about _him? _You're shtill on hish shide after all the-"

"...or my things, I'll kill you; I'll rip your motherfuckings throat open, do you understands me?"

He nodded, a look of pure terror on his face. Nobody, not even Pickles, doubted the Norwegian's threat. Although the redhead knew that the guitarist's deadly words weren't directed at him, he still felt goosebumps rising on his flesh. He began trembling, but tried to hide this by opening the suitcase and beginning to dig thru its contents. Toki released Murderface, watched him exit the room, then turned his attention back to the redhead. He knelt down next to him and arched a pierced brow.

"What ams he tooks from you?"

"I dunno." he answered simply, trying to ignore the guitarist's meaningful stare.

"Hmm." Toki reached into the suitcase, threw some of Murderface's shirts aside, then found what he'd been looking for—his old deddy bear.

Pickles dared to speak, though he still didn't meet the other man's eyes. "I thought 'dat you took that with you back home, right?"

"Nos," he said crossly, rising up to his full height. "I was in such a hurry to packs up my things, I must've lost hims..." he let a look of contemplation come across his face as he glanced down at his bear. After a silent moment of this, he walked out of the room. Pickles just continued to kneel there, feeling himself about to scream. Was it so wrong to be terrified of someone? Especially if that someone was the once the gentle, kind, and sweet Toki Wartooth?

: :: :: ::: : ::: : :: :: :

The first day came and went. As the sun set and filled the Mordhaus with a kind of wild orange glow everyone gathered downstairs in the living room area to discuss their findings and what they still had to claim. Pickles showed up, and so did Toki. To the redhead's surprise, the Norwegian did indeed plant himself next to him and lay back leisurely into the old, sagging couch. He had dropped a nearly full duffel bag of objects onto the floor and now he just glanced over at Pickles and glared at him. The redhead just flashed him a smile.

Once all objects had been taken into account, Murderface suggested that they order pizza. He'd pay for it, since out of all of them, sadly, he was the best off money wise. Everyone agreed and, once the delivery arrived, they ate in silence then retreated up to their rooms. Or at least that's what they were _supposed _to do, but Pickles was restless. He wandered about the empty, dark Mordhaus until he finally came to Ofdensen's old office. The door was opened ajar, and a little bit of yellow light poured out from it, but the redhead barley noticed this until he was inside the office staring at Toki. The Norwegian turned to face him, a guilty look on his face. The eyeliner that circled his eyes was now running down his face in long, black trails, and it was smudged on his hands. Pickles noticed this and walked up to him.

"You been cryin'?" he inquired gently, reaching out a hand to Toki's cheek. The other man just let his pale gaze fall onto the ground.

"N-Nos, of course I haven't been c-crying. That ams for-"

"Kids? Yeah, I know. You told me 'dat." he dared to press a hand to Toki's face and attempt to wipe away the running eyeliner. This earned him a firm slap to the face.

"What the fucks ams you touching me likes that for?"

"I—I dunno, I was just tryin' to help you, I guess." Pickles said, struggling to regain a hold on himself. He'd fallen back against Ofdensen's old mahogany desk, making things on it clatter together. It was then, as his emerald eyes regained focus, he was able to catch a glimpse of Toki holding something carefully behind his back. Slowly he held out his hand. "Whadda hidin', dude? Lemme see."

"Nos!" he cried, shaking his head. For that moment he almost seemed like his old self, but this quickly disappeared as he lashed out, tried to hit Pickles again; this time the redhead dodged his punch and snatched the object away nimbly. What he saw shocked him. It was a Bible.

"Where'd you get 'dis?" he demanded, placing the book tenderly on Ofdensen's desk.

"Outs of hims desk if you wants to knows!" he said, indicating the exact drawer that he'd dug the book out of. Pickles still held out his hand expectantly.

"Well put it back, 'den."

"Whys should I-"

" 'Cause you're a Satanist now anyways, right?"

Toki turned red and glared down at the floor of the office. "Ja," he said hesitantly, "rights."

"So then what's the prablem?"

"I just...I..." he closed his eyes, took a deep, ragged breath, and said, his voice trembling, "I wants it, okay? It reminds of of hims, how he'd always tries to take a few hours to himself on Sundays to pray and stuffs...just please, please lets me have it."

"Yeah, okay dude." he said kindly, nodding. "I just didn't think it meant much to you. 'Dat's fine, then. I'll just go." he slowly made his way out of Ofdensen's office, but not before sneaking one last look at Toki. He looked utterly miserable as he took up the Bible. He looked like he wanted to die.

: :: :: ::: : ::: : :: :: :

It was amazing just how little he had seen of everybody else; even as he was wandering for a few hours more about the Mordhaus, he never saw another soul. Pickles smiled bitterly as he made his way back to his room; he'd spent hours walking in silence, and it was probably past midnight by now. He half expected to see a Klokateer on his way, but he knew this wasn't possible. The once faithful servants of _Dethklok _had abandoned their masters years ago. Sometimes Pickles wondered where they were now—raising normal families, working a blue-collar job? He sighed as he neared his bedroom door; without thinking he strode in and let out a startled gasp when he saw Toki lying on his bed.

"T-Toki? Dude, what the hell are you doin' in my room?"

The Norwegian, who was in nothing but his underwear, hurried to cover up his chest. "What the fucks do you mean _your _rooms? This ams _my _room, asshole!"

"It is?" Pickles glanced around the room and saw that he was indeed in the wrong. He stood in the middle of a childish paradise, full of stuffed animals and model airplanes. His face reddened when he turned his gaze back over to Toki, who was glaring at him. "Sorry 'bout this...I guess I'll just-"

"Waits! I-I mean-" the guitarist struggled to say without sounding too kiddish, like his old self, "-I means, you don't _have _to go."

"I don't?"

"No, I'm not goings to make you leave. You could stay..."

Pickles frowned at this notion. "I could?" where had this sudden change in mood come from? He didn't know, but in a moment the Norwegian was nodding childishly.

"Ja, I means, it's not like I _care _or anythings, but if you're goings to be such a pussy abouts things, you might wants to stay here." he swallowed and said, his pale eyes shining brightly from behind his messy hair, "You knows, if you wants."

"Yeah," the redhead said with a small smile. "I'd like 'dat, I guess." without another word he made his way over and sat beside Toki. They stayed in that awkward state for a while until he opened his mouth to say something else, "So-"

But before he could get his full thought out, the guitarist had completely dissolved into waves of pressing sorrow, and he was sobbing uncontrollably. Before he really knew what he was doing, Toki was clinging to him, lying in his lap, and hugging him so close that it was actually painful. "I'm sorrys," he said miserably, "I'm so sorrys I've beens acting likes a dick, it ams just that I don't know what else to do!"

"I know," he said, gently holding the Norwegian to him, "I get it—s'fine. We're all sad, we're all kinda actin' like pricks."

"But I'ms _horrible _to you, and all you've dones is trys to be nice to me and I-I-I-" he was shaking so hard, his sobs coming out in endless waves.

Pickles held him close and whispered in his ear lovingly, "Sssh, don't do this to yourself...s'fine, it's gonna be okay, I promise." he didn't know exactly how to go about comforting someone—he'd never done it before, really—but he supposed this was good. After all, he was just saying what was on his mind. How could that be wrong?

Toki just continued to cry. Words came pouring out of his mouth, flowing freely and as rapidly as the tears that were slipping down his cheeks; his voice was a slurred howling of pain and dismay, but somehow Pickles found him to be intelligible. "It ams just that my life has beens _hell, _Pickle, and I wants to die, I really do, because after tomorrow I'm goings to have to go back to my moms house and takes care of her—I hates her, I hates myself, I hate _everything._"

"Don't say 'dat," he prompted, wiping away some of the guitarist's tears.

"I'ms only mean 'cause of what happened when I gots back to Lillehammer...I don't really means it, it just happens..."

"What happened when you gat back home?" Pickles pressed, gently kissing the top of Toki's head. When the Norwegian shook his head and lapsed into tears again, the redhead just pressed his face into his hair and whispered warmly, "Sssh, s'okay. Don't cry, please. It's gonna be fine, nothin' bad's gonna happen."

"They were all so means to me!" he confessed, covering his face with his hands. "They called me a fag, the Devil for beings in _Dethklok. _They said I was bads, a disgrace to Norway for beings in a band likes that, and they never left me alone..."

"I'm sorry." he said, though he wasn't quite sure what Toki meant by 'they', but he assumed he just meant other people his age. "I never thought you'd have it so bad. I never thought-"

"Ands they saids I was a horrible person, that I was goings to Hell, sos I just...I...Satan, he ams easier to pray to thans God...he makes me feel-"

"I know, it's alright. You don't have anything to be embarrassed about, either." Pickles said, lightly running a hand thru Toki's long, luxurious hair. "You didn't do nothin' wrong."

"Buts I-"

"You're perfect."

"They ams right, I think..."

"I love you."

"They were rights about everything..."

"I've always loved you," Pickles found himself whispering to Toki as he held him in his arms protectively. "Since the first day you were in the band, since 'dat first time I saw you play...I knew you were the best person in the world and when we broke up I knew I shouldn't have let you go—deep down I knew, but I let you get on that fuckin' plane anyway. I was such a damn idiot!"

"P-Pickle?" The Norwegian peered up at him, his face stained by glittering trails of tears, his eyes overly bright with sorrow. "You means all that stuff? You really loves me?"

"Course I do!" although his mind was screaming loudly, _Shut up, you're ruining the moment! He'll never even look at you again if you keep this up! _he couldn't help it. He realized now that what he said was the truth, and although he'd managed to bury and stifle that old desire and attraction for the other man for years, it couldn't be caged or forgotten now. "How could anyone nat love you?"

"I...umm..."

_Take it back, obviously he's disgusted..._

"I thinks that I don't know what love ams anymore. I'm sorrys..." Toki finally confessed, clearly ashamed with himself and his lack of emotion. "I think that if I had to choose, I'd say that I loves you too, but I just don'ts know..."

"Can I kiss you?"

He blushed and let out a sort of gasping, _"Whats?"_

Pickles just pulled him into another hug and ran his hands down the bare and warm skin of Toki's back. "How long has it been since anyone's touched or kissed you?" The Norwegian couldn't meet his gaze, so the redhead gently guided his face upwards, so that they were both staring straight at each other. "I want an answer." he said softly. He took care to ensure that his tone wasn't too demanding or dominating; he didn't want to be the Norwegian's master and make him feel uncomfortable; he just wanted an honest answer.

"I...ums..." he blinked back more tears and whispered painfully, "I'ms not good enough for alls that."

"Huh." Pickles just frowned at this and pulled Toki away from him. He surveyed him from head to toe, and wasn't impressed with what he saw. Too many earrings...one thing did grab his attention, though—two small silver hoops hung from the Norwegian's nipples. He grinned to himself and tugged at one of them forcefully, making Toki let out a startled little gasp. "Why'd you get 'em pierced if you didn't want people doin' dat?" when no answer came, he began playing with Toki's bellybutton ring. "I hate this shit you gat in you—the only thing I wanna ever see in you is _me." _

The guitarist's eyes grew wide and he bit his lower, pierced lip shyly. "You don'ts likes them?"

"Fuck no. Take some of them out."

"Buts-"

"_Now." _when no movement was made, he let out a dismayed sigh and pressed a hand to Toki's cheek. "Do you honestly like the way you look with all this crap—the make-up, the nail polish, the pentagrams and stuff? I miss the old you, the old Toki, so-" he gently began undoing some of the Norwegian's earrings. "-before I kiss you or touch you, I wanna see _you _again. Please, babe?"

"Okay, I guess, buts I didn't mean for it to turns out this way." he indicated his eyebrow piercings—two thru each brow, just like the redhead himself—and explained, "I missed you, sos I just pierced mys eyebrow, likes you gots, only it made me sadder and sos I gots three more, likes you. Then I gots my tongue and my ears, and-"

"Which ones do you wanna keep?"

He thought about it then said innocently, "Ones earring, my tongues, and these." he indicated the rings hanging from his nipples, and Pickles grinned at this.

"Okay, sure. We could work 'dat out. C'mmere." he laid down with Toki on the bed and together they removed the endless arrays of earrings. Once that was done, he recognized his old love. One thing still had to go, though—carefully the drummer began wiping away the eyeliner that now ran in dark streams down the Norwegian's face. Finally he was satisfied. "Y'know, I've always wanted to just have you alone for one night, just to see how you'd act if I kissed you and fucked with you a little."

Their lips met, and nothing more was held back. Lips became permanently locked together, and Pickles pleased himself by winding his tongue around Toki's tongue ring. He played with it and pulled at it, lapped him up and drank him in. Meanwhile his hands couldn't help but to begin playing with the Norwegian's nipple rings again—he tugged at them, fondled them, and felt himself quickly becoming aroused. Toki broke away from him, letting out pleased little sighs as he was touched.

"This ams not okay!" he finally managed to say, breathing hard. Pickles turned red once he heard this and he didn't hesitate to cease his probing. Quite suddenly he felt like he was committing some kind of crime, like he was a child molester or something, and these feelings were only validated as he met Toki's frightened gaze. _What ams you going to do to me? _He seemed to say silently, _Hurt me?_

"Sorry." he said, moving back some. "Too much, I know, but once you let me kiss you, I kinda lost c-"

"You cans still kiss me; that I likes."

"You don't like it when I touch you?"

Toki blushed and admitted, "It ams just too much tonight—maybe some other time. There ams too much goings on right now...I can't handle it."

_But we only have tonight, _he wanted to scream out, but of course he fought of this urge. He knew that it truly was too much, and he didn't want to force himself onto the other man, so he just wrapped his arms around the Norwegian and pulled him into a tight embrace. " 'Kay, you're right; we'll wait. Waitin' good. It'll make it better."

The guitarist just nodded and allowed himself to curl up comfortably in Pickles' arms. "Thanks," he murmured, closing his eyes. "ands for the record, I still ams pretty sure that I loves you."

He smiled to himself. "Lemme know if 'dat changes, okay?"

"Alrights, but it won't."

"We'll see."


	3. Chapter 3

_**CHAPTER 3: LAST DAY**_

"Hmm..." Toki let out a tired little moan in his sleep and adjusted his position in Pickles' arms. The redhead didn't mind, though; he just accepted the change and continued to hold him close to his bare chest. After the events of the day before, it had been decided that they'd remain together for the rest of the night. Pickles had eagerly accepted the Norwegian's warmth, and so they'd slipped into a serene, unreal sleep in one another's embrace. It seemed too good to be true, and so it was. The drummer knew that today was the last day that he'd be able to stay here with Toki—in only a few short hours they'd all be forced out of the Mordhaus, and have to say goodbye for the final time. He'd been racking his brain since he awoke to try and figure a way around this—he couldn't let Toki go, not now and ever again—but could only come up with one extremely selfish, unlikely idea.

If he could convince the Norwegian to dump his life in his hometown and go with him back to the slums of L.A., to live a nearly pointless life amidst drugs, violence, and filthy sex, then maybe everything would be okay. Part of him wanted so badly to believe that this would work, but the more intelligent part of his mind told him that it would be an insult to Toki's very existence to even ask this of him. It was disgusting, and he'd never be able to take care of another person in that kind of environment...

Still, the idea wouldn't quit developing in his brain. He could just imagine bringing Toki back to his old apartment complex, working to give him all he could, having him alone to kiss and touch and make love to...

He watched the sun stream in thru the ripped and tattered curtains that halfway hung in the window. He sighed deeply; it was past time. The more they slept, the less they'd be able to be together. Gently he shook Toki's shoulder. "Hey," he whispered, kissing the top of the other man's head, "c'man, get up already, dude."

"Hmm?" he opened his eyes a crack and shook his head. "Nos," he said rebelliously, burying his face in the redhead's chest. "toos early."

"Please get up. I'll fix you somethin' to eat if you're hungry, or I'll make you some coffee."

"Don't makes me get up; this feels toos good to just quits."

He smiled and gently urged Toki to roll off of him. Immediately he began to grow chilly at the loss of body heat, but that couldn't be helped. He just put some of the Norwegian's hair out of his face and prodded, "C'man, get up so 'dat we can go do somethin'."

"Likes what?" he asked, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his tired eyes. Pickles shrugged and pulled the Norwegian close. He couldn't help it—they didn't have forever to spend together, and Toki was just so God damn touchable. He welcomed Pickles' constant attention with an adorable, charming smile. He laid back down in the drummer's arms and said to him softly, "Why don't we just spends the whole day likes this?"

" 'Cause."

" 'Cause whys?"

" 'Cause I still gotta get up aff my lazy ass and get my stuff together."

Toki glanced around his room and frowned thoughtfully. "Nos, that ams no good."

"Why nat? You don't want me to leave?" he asked casually, kissing the guitarist's cheek lightly. " 'Cause I won't go if you don't want me to."

"Nos, it ams not that—I means, I don't want you to leaves, but I don't wants to spend the rest of the day in here. I ams just...I don't likes it anymore...I reminds me too much of-"

"Okay, I get it. I can fix 'dat. Here-" he jumped off the bed and, not even bothering to throw on his shirt, scooped Toki up into his arms. "We'll just go t'my room, then."

"You don't haves to carry me..." the Norwegian said, though me made no move to try and get out of Pickles' arms. The redhead just stood there for a moment grinned down at him until finally Toki asked, "Whats ams you staring at me likes that for?"

"Nothin'," he answered quickly, making his way over to the door. He opened it then added in a tender sort of way, "You just look real pretty in my arms like 'dis."

He blushed and looped his arms around Pickles' neck. Toki clung to him like a small child as he was carried all the way down the hall and up a flight of stairs. The redhead didn't know where his sudden strength came from—after all, hadn't he doubted his own ability to hold his own against the pitiful William Murderface just yesterday?—but he didn't care much. It was there, and he had a feeling that Toki was partially responsible for this. It was an odd sensation, to feel like you were worth more than the pot that you pissed in, but that's what he felt like then, as the Norwegian clung to him and buried his face in his hair.

"You smells nice, likes candy."

He chuckled to himself. "Yeah, you like 'dat, don't you?"

"Umm-hmm."

Finally they reached the redhead's room; Pickles took Toki over to his bed and put him down gently before sitting next to him. "Need anything? Want me to go down and get you some food or-"

"Nos, I'm good." he said, smiling down at his bare feet. "Thanks, though...for everythings."

"Whadda mean everything? I haven't done anything to you _yet." _the way he stressed that word made them both turn red. So here they were, both nestled in a large bed, with nothing in the world besides each other. Pickles realized that this was a potentially hazardous mistake, and raced to correct it. "Look," he said, rising up and swallowing nervously, "I didn't mean that—how it sounded, bad, like sex or somethin', but I didn't mean that at all, I swear...it's just that-"

"It ams cool," Toki said, laughing at his panic. "I trusts you."

His previous insecurities left him and he straightened up a little and arched a brow. "You do, huh?" there was a slight pause, one in which the younger man merely nodded and gave him a charming smile. "Well," Pickles said finally, scratching his head awkwardly, "maybe you give your trust away to quick."

"Nos, I don't think so."

"You can't just go around trustin' anybody."

"But you ams not just anybody, you ams _my _somebody."

Pickles thought this over and said, choosing his words carefully, "Well if I'm your somebody then who do you think you are?"

"Nobody...befores I talked to you yesterday. Now I guess I'm still nobody, but I'm starting to feel likes a somebody."

"Well if you're my somebody, then don't 'dat mean-"

"I'ms confused, now." Toki interrupted, laughing and pulling Pickles back over onto the bed. The redhead collapsed on top of him, pinning him to the mattress. He laughed at this, tried to get Pickles off of him, but couldn't. He dissolved into fits of hysteria and cried, "G-Gets off! I can't move."

"Sorry, I'm content right here." he said, planting a kiss on the Norwegian's bare chest. "And I ain't movin' till you tell me what you're hungry for."

"Your dick." he said, rolling his eyes. "Theres—ams that makes you happy?"

Pickles pretended to ponder this question before shrugging and saying coolly, "Yeah, a little." still he didn't make a move to unpin the other man from the bed; he just pressed his weight down on top of him and laughed when Toki continued to squirm. "Alright, you want me to let you go?" The Norwegian blushed and tried to kiss the other man, only to be forced gently back into the soft, forgiving bed. "Cover up—get some Gad damn clothes an, already." the redhead said.

He laughed and shook his head stubbornly, pushed Pickles away from him, and sat up. He boldly stretched, let the other man see his full torso flexing and bending. "Whys shoulds I? Does it matter? We both have-"

"You make me horny." he said bluntly, throwing one of his own old shirts over to the Norwegian. "Now lemme watch you slip into this."

Toki just laughed and thought aloud for a moment. "Let's see—_why _didn't I wants to let you fuck me last nights?" he took the shirt, then threw it to the side in an audacious way. "Oh ja, because I don't wants to gives it up that easy..."

"I'm nat tryin' to make you give nothin' up." Pickles said almost snappishly. The mere notion that he might pressure the Norwegian into doing anything—especially sex—sickened him and instantly made him feel ashamed of himself. Who was he kidding? Sure, this had been some subconscious ploy to try and distract Toki from the real world, to try and turn him on enough to make him not be able to say no...

...Then again, who was he to try and turn somebody on? The last sex he'd gotten had been from a very deprived, underage hooker.

Toki, however, saw that Pickles was beginning to lose confidence in himself, and fell into his arms. "You knows whats we usually do in Norway?"

"Yeah?" he asked gloomily, trying to calm his rising desires down to a controllable level. "Whadda do?"

He smiled deviously and licked his lips; he leaned very close to the drummer's face and whispered suggestively, "We sleep _naked."_

"N-Naked?" his eyes grew wide and he felt himself becoming hard. "You guys must always be horny, huh?" he asked, chuckling nervously. _Control yourself..._

"Ja, and we likes to fuck _a lot."_

What was this, some kind of test to see if Pickles would try and make a move on him or not? Apparently so, because in another moment Toki was kissing him, moaning longingly. "Yous-" he panted, ending the kiss, "-you could really do anything you wanted tos me right now...nobody would knows, even if you did something that I didn't wants to happen, no matter what I coulds do, it wouldn't makes any difference."

So he was terrified of being alone with Pickles, because he knew deep down inside of him that he was powerless against the desires of others? The redhead felt disgusted by this appalled, but also by the knowledge that whatever had happened to the younger man in Norway hadn't been good; it had fucked him up in the head very badly. Had he been forced into sex? Pickles swallowed as he thought back to all the hookers he'd raped when he'd been high...screw it, he hadn't raped them because he'd been high, it had been because he wanted to have power over something, to control one thing, even if it was the sex he'd have with another human being. His face paled when he thought back—hadn't he taken a girl's virginity? Damn, what kind of person was he to be so sick? Perhaps Toki could sense this fatal flaw in him, perhaps that's what made him so wary right then. Perhaps he didn't trust Pickles as much as he said he did.

For some reason it had always been painfully easy for him to imagine the guitarist naked, even when he'd first laid his eyes on him. He couldn't help it then, not as he was introduced to the talented guitarist, not as he saw him strum out the most complex riffs during a concert, and he couldn't help it now. Slowly his hands traveled down and grabbed at the Norwegian's ass, firmly planted themselves there. He wanted to be inside of him so damn badly, but he knew it would have to wait, so without another moment's hesitation he threw Toki off of him, kissed him, then got up and asked, "Where do we start lookin' today?"

: :: :: ::: : ::: : :: :: :

After a few hours of searching and recovering precious items, Toki finally said, "Ins my room there's one more thing that I needs—can we go check rights now?"

"Sure, whatever you want, baby." Pickles answered, taking the Norwegian's hand. They walked together down the long, dark halls of the Mordhaus, and for once nothing seemed that frightening. The old spookiness of the deserted house had fled with the coming of fresh daylight. Of course, no matter how much they wished it, they weren't alone, and on the way to the guitarist's room they passed Nathan and Skwigsaar. The two had been talking together in rushed whispers, and they were standing in an abandoned corner of the house. Pickles arched a brow and announced his presence. "Heya, jack-affs. Sleep good?"

Nathan turned to him and growled, "Murderface said that he looked in Toki's room last night—you two were fucking around or something?"

The Norwegian's old air of disdain came upon him again. He pulled away from Pickles and hissed dangerously, _"What's _did you just ask us?"

"Piss off, you little Satanist bitch, I wasn't talking to _you." _and just like that all the credibility that Toki had managed to acquire since his arrival days before was lost. His face reddened and he looked down at his boots. Immediately his characteristic childishness came back to him, and he backed away.

"Sorrys." he murmured, sinking back into Pickles' warm embrace.

Skwigsaar let a look of utter disgust come across his face as he blurted, "So it ammnest trues, what he saids; you two ammenst really fucking now...God, that ams so sick!" but oddly enough he wasn't addressing the both of them, only Pickles. "Whats, so just 'cause you haven't gotten any ass in years, you thinks that you can just comes back here, gets little Toki to feels bad for you, and fuck hims? You're _sick."_

"Shut up! It ain't like 'dat at all! It's-"

"We've been talking," Nathan cut in, crossing his arms over his chest. "and we want the both of you faggots out of our house—Ofdensen's house—in an hour. Fuck the will, fuck the time limit, we don't need any more of you guys' queer shit screwing up anything."

"But it ain't like we're doin' anything wrong!" Pickles protested, holding Toki to him protectively as Nathan took a few steps near him. "And I don't give a livin' shit what Murderface says, he didn't see what he thought he did! We never fucked last night, we've never fucked ever, and even if we did s'none of your Gad damn business!"

"I'll _make _it my business if you don't let Toki go right now."

He glanced over to Skwisgaar, and saw the deadly, vengeful look that the Swede had reflecting in his eyes. Still his hold on his love didn't lessen, and he dared to say, "No, 'cause he don't wanna leave me."

"Ugh!" Skwisgaar groaned, "That ammnest so gross! Toki-" he instructed snappishly, pointing to the ground next to him. "-comes here right now. You don't haves to do everything he says no mores."

"Dids..." he glanced from Nathan to Pickles and asked in a clueless kind of innocence, "...dids we do somethings wrong?"

"No," Pickles instantly answered. He was drowned out by Nathan's affirmative, unwavering declaration of, "Yes, you fucking did, you little fag. Come here."

The singer grabbed Toki's arm, roughly forced him away from Pickles, and hissed in his face hatefully, "This is what you call respect for the dead? What would Ofdensen say if he knew what you did last night, that you were a fag? He'd never-"

"How the fuck do you know what he'd think?" Pickles snapped, grabbing Toki's hand. "It's none of your business what I do. We're nat leavin' until you do, so just suck it up." he glanced at the Norwegian and hissed, "C'man." and together they pushed past Nathan and Skwisgaar down the hall.

: :: :: ::: : ::: : :: :: :

They both retreated into Ofdensen's old office once again. Once there, Pickles slammed the door shut, locked it, then went and fell into the desk chair. He leaned back in it and let out a huge, dramatic sigh. "Gad, I'm pissed."

"Mes too." Toki agreed, going over and plopping down onto his lap. Pickles continued to stare off into space until his gaze came upon an old picture that was hanging on the wall a ways away. It was of Charles and the rest of the band, before a concert in Italy, and it was beautiful. He swallowed and gently urged Toki up off of him. "Whats ams you tearing up likes that for?"

" 'Dat picture over there," he said, rising up from his seat and going over to it. "Why hasn't anyone taken it down yet?"

"Maybe because it ams of the whole band, and none of us care that much to takes it." the Norwegian commented with a shrug, spinning around in the office chair. He watched as the redhead gingerly pressed a hand to the dusty glass of the frame, then took it down altogether.

"I want it—we should take it for our place. This and 'dat over there." he said, pointing to another photograph. This one was resting on Ofdensen's old desk. Toki peered at it, studied it, and picked it up.

"The band's first Christmas togethers? Wowee, I remembers that..."

"We'll need 'dat one, too." Pickles murmured, going back over to meet Toki. He took that frame from him as well and held them close to his chest. "What else do we need?"

As he searched the office more carefully, Toki dared to pipe up and ask, "Whats ams you mean with all this 'we'?"

Slowly, the redhead turned to him, his face a deep scarlet, full of embarrassment. He laid the photographs down on the desk then said to him, far more serious than usual, "I dunno, I just figured that...I mean, you really aren't gonna leave me again, are you?"

"Wells," he said, sitting up a little straighter in the chair, "ja, I guess I am, because I haves to."

"Whadda have to go back to?"

"I—well...nothings. I haves to take care of my mom."

"You're the only one in the family who can do 'dat?" he pressed, leaning in a little closer towards the Norwegian. "C'man, you've spent your whole fuckin' life taking care of her—can't the rest of your family pick up the slack, just this once?"

Toki's face paled at the thought of this. He moved away from the redhead and took a long moment to consider his words before finally asking, "Whats ams you talking about, exactly?"

At last Pickles allowed himself to steal a kiss from the other man—when it was over he whispered in the Norwegian's ear, "Come back to L.A. with me, babe."

The whole room became eerily silent. Toki just sat there, his eyes wide, his lips longing for more than just a mere, short kiss, his heart pounding. Seconds turned into minutes, but finally he was able to uselessly sputter, "G-Gos to L.A. with you? Ams you _insane? _Pickle, we just gots together last night and now you wants me to...I can't...I _won'ts..._"

Pickles felt an immense pain enter his heart. He just swallowed it down—or tried to, anyway—and said sadly, "Okay, whatever. I get it. You just wanted it to be a two-day thing, right? You wanted me to just fall in love with you all over again and just—fine, I get it. Story of my fuckin' life. I'll just go back to L.A. alone, sell some drugs, get some money, and buy a nice apartment to hang myself in."

"Whats?" his eyes filled with tears. "Don'ts say that, nots ever!"

"What else do you want me to do?" he demanded, glaring at the ground. "Act happy? Look, I get that you don't wanna give up living in Norway, it was selfish and stupid of me to ask, but you just pretty much spat in my face..."

Toki rose up from his seat and took Pickles' hand. "I didn't means it." he said, trying to coax the redhead out of his depression. "I just needed some time to thinks."

"We ain't gat no time!"

"Then ja, I'lls go!"

"We don't have anything! We-" his face attained a look of joy as he dared to look back over to Toki. "What did you just say?"

The Norwegian threw himself into Pickles' arms and snuggled up to him, demanded to be held and adored. He closed his eyes and said wistfully, "Ands we can live together alls by ourselves and be normal, likes we ams married."

"You mean you wanna stay with me?"

"Ja, I woulds loves it."

"And go back to L.A.?"

"Ands lives together."

He kissed Toki's cheek and smiled. "D'you love me?"

"Ja," he answered without hesitation, "I reallys do."

: :: :: ::: : ::: : :: :: :

The rest of the day came and went quickly, and soon everyone was standing outside of the Mordhaus, waiting for their separate cabs to come and pick them up. They all stood a good distance away from each other, glaring down at the ground—all except for Pickles and Toki, who were together, hand in hand, grinning and talking and laughing. Skwisgaar saw this and said in almost a jealous way, "Damns them—stupids, gay love...I remembers when me ands my wife used to talks like 'dat befores I got her pregnant..."

"Hey, fuckers, quit it!" Nathan howled at the two.

Pickles just rolled his eyes and said back, "Piss aff, dildo. Don't tell us what t'do."

Murderface just remained silent. His cab pulled up first, then Skwisgaar's. Finally Pickles and Toki's cab came. They loaded their suitcases into the back seat, then Pickles allowed the Norwegian to get in first. "What's the rule?" he asked himself as Toki climbed in, "Ladies first?"

"Shuts up, asshole." Toki said jokingly.

Pickles climbed in next to him and slammed the door. As they drove away, he was able to glance back and watch as Nathan and the Mordhaus became a smaller and smaller speck on the horizon. Finally it disappeared altogether. He felt an overwhelming amount of bitter sadness then, and before he realized it he was crying. The driver glanced back at him curiously, and so he tried to hide it, but Toki just reached over and took his hand. They were both silent. It was only then that Pickles realized that the Norwegian was crying as well—struggling not to weep. He reached over, pulled him close, and wiped his tears away. Within minutes Toki was asleep in his lap.


	4. Chapter 4

_**CHAPTER 4: REUNIONS**_

"So this ams L.A.?" Toki inquired as Pickles lead him up the stairs of some shabby apartment complex. The redhead nodded anxiously and urged him to keep up pace. He spared on time in climbing up the stairs, though this wasn't actually the apartment that he'd lived in before going to the Mordhaus. It was his old band mate's. He hadn't seen Tony in a few weeks, but they'd always usually managed to get together once in a while and drink. Although Pickles wasn't sure if the other man would be up to it, he planned to crash for a few months at his apartment, at least until he could make enough money to pay for his own place again.

They reached the door and Pickles knocked once before entering. "Hey, Tony, I'm home."

A man greeted them, one who wore a tattered leather vest and a top hat. He arched a brow when he saw the two men standing there in his doorway. "Uh...hey, bro. What's up? I didn't know you were gonna come over tonight." he said, closing and locking the door behind him. He gave Toki a quick study and added in a sort of sinfully welcoming voice, "You should've told me that you'd be bringing _company." _just the way he let the word slip past his lips made Pickles reach protectively for the Norwegian's hand.

"We need a place to crash for a few." he said, going over to the fridge. He dug himself out a bottle of of half empty, cheap booze and took a sip from it before passing it to Toki. Tony watched them with suspicion in his dark, shining eyes.

"Uh-huh," he said, crossing his arms over his chest, "a few—like what, a few months or weeks or-"

"Just a few, dude." he answered nudging Toki in the direction of the living room area. Well, it couldn't really be called a living room, per say. The whole apartment itself only consisted of a few rooms—the kitchen and the t.v. area, which housed a small, sagging loveseat. The only other rooms were the bathroom and what Tony had designated as his 'Private Room', or the only bedroom in the place. Sure, one could always throw a few pillows down onto the floor and sleep there, but the Private Room had a nice, soft, huge bed and a door that actually locked; the bathroom door barley closed.

"Sit here for a while, 'kay baby?" Pickles murmured to Toki before making his way back into the kitchen to talk with the other man. Tony was glaring at him.

"What's the big idea, man? You just barge in here at eleven at night and expect me to-"

"Look, dude, I'm sorry, but it's just 'dat me and the kid just came back from a trip, and I was so far behind an rent for my old place that-"

Tony sighed and nodded understandingly. "Okay, okay, I get it. You fell back on rent like always and you need a place to stay for the next few weeks, right?"

"I'll pay my share, and Toki's too."

"You'd better." he warned, glancing over at the Norwegian, who was busy flipping thru static t.v. channels lazily. "Don't make me regret this."

"I won't." he swore.

Tony just pulled him into a hug and whispered to him, "This is good—I've been worried about you being on your own lately...you haven't been right in the head. I guess it's stupid, but I was really starting to think you would hurt yourself."

"Wasn't so stupid," Pickles disagreed, pulling away.

The other man just stared into his face for a while, studied him carefully. That was one of the things that the redhead hated about Tony—he was quiet most of the time, but inhumanly observant. He could tell the woes and sorrows of a stranger just by taking a quick study of them. It unnerved him, but all the same he really did love Tony. They'd been best friends for the longest time.

"Fine," he said at last, motioning over to the living room area—the loveseat which Toki was already occupying, and the small t.v. "make yourselves at home. Pickles, you can sleep on the floor, and the other guy-"

"Toki."

"-yeah, whatever. He can take the loveseat if you wa-"

"Nah, I think we'll work somethin' out. You just go to bed already." Pickles interrupted, making his way over to Toki. He knelt down behind him and delicately pulled some of the younger man's hair back behind his shoulders, just so he could better see his face. "Baby," he whispered, "are you tired?"

In fact, the Norwegian was hanging onto his current state of awareness by a single, nearly spent thread. He nodded and answered drearily, "Ja, sleeps please."

"Okay, lemme fix it."

Pickles went over and retrieved the pillows and cushions from the loveseat. He placed them in front of the T.V. and then piled a few blankets on top. Toki eagerly climbed into the makeshift bed and the redhead did the same. Neither of them realized that Tony was still watching, his arms crossed, his eyes shining brightly. Pickles laid down next to the Norwegian and put a blanket over the both of them. He draped an arm gently over Toki's shoulders and pulled him closer; the younger man let out a tired, content sigh and snuggled close to him. Pickles blushed and kissed his forehead. "G'night, dude."

"Hmm." he said, already half asleep. Slowly the redhead caressed him, let his hands work around his shoulders, to his chest, and then down to his back. He held him impossibly close until finally he felt himself being watched. He glanced back over to where Tony was still standing and his green eyes grew wide. He hadn't meant to be so obvious about it...

"Oh, now I get it." Tony said, smiling a little. He made his way over to the door of the Private Room and chuckled under his breath, "Cute, Pickles, he's real cute; I'm glad you're with someone who you actually care about, finally."

: :: :: ::: : ::: : :: :: :

Late the following evening Toki finally awoke alone in the messy pile of pillows and blankets. He rubbed the remaining sleep from his eyes, stretched, and looked around the small apartment. He didn't remember where he was or how he'd gotten there, only that the night before Pickles had been with him, had kept him warm and whispered comforting things to him during his sleep. He'd told him stories of how they'd get out of this shabby place, move to some rich neighborhood like Beverly Hills, and be content forever. He'd told him that he'd give him anything that he wanted, and that he'd go to any lengths to ensure his happiness...Toki blinked in a confused way and frowned in thought. If Pickles had been here last night, then that must mean that this place was good. It must mean that he was safe here, even though currently his love was nowhere to be seen.

"Hey, finally awake?"

Toki jumped and let out a startled gasp. He whirled around and was surprised to see a rather slender man standing behind him, not at all like Pickles. He had dark, shoulder-length hair that was greasily tucked underneath a worn top hat. The only thing covering his torso was a leather vest. Something inside of his mind clicked; hadn't he seen this man before on T.V., during the resurrection of _Snakes 'n Barrels_ all those years ago? Wasn't he one of Pickles' best friends?

"You want something to eat?" Tony asked gently, holding out a plate of toast. Toki took it gratefully and began eating. Meanwhile the dark-haired man took a seat on the couch and stretched out; he began flipping thru channels on the television as he watched the Norwegian eat. "Pickles went out." he finally said.

"Wheres?"

"T'work."

This struck him completely off guard. He glanced over his shoulder at Tony and asked curiously, "Pickle has a jobs? I didn't know that."

Toki just smiled a little to himself and answered evasively, "Yeah, I guess you could call it that—a job."

"If it's not a job them what ams it?" when no answer came, Toki slowly put down the plate and reached up. He tugged roughly at Tony's vest in an attempt to get his attention. "Well, what does he dos that ams such a big secret?"

"What else?" he asked lazily, giving the younger man a sort of knowing smile. "He deals."

"Oh..." a pause, then, "He deals _whats, _exactlys?"

He gave the younger man an amused look and then peered back over to the t.v. After a minute or two he responded coolly, "Drugs—crack, meth, anything he can get his hands on. He deals for a few hours every night, makes enough money to pay for his share—plus you, now—and then comes back home and crashes for the whole day." then he gave Toki a sort of sad smile and added, "Didn't he tell you, kid? Seems like he really likes you. Maybe he was afraid that you'd-"

"But if he ams doing that, he'll gets hurt!" was all the Norwegian could say. Tony gave him a confused look and laughed a little. It was an out-of-place sound, one that was unexpected, and so Toki turned to him and asked sharply, "What ams you laughing for? You think this ams funny or something?"

"No, it's just that...well, all you care about is him getting hurt? What about the money he brings home, or-"

"Nos way! Oh Gods-" he was terrified now. What if he lost Pickles? Where would he go, how would he be able to live? He wouldn't, he couldn't...Toki paled and rose to his feet, ignoring Tony's probing gaze. It seemed as though the other man was constantly, silently demanding more—more answers, more questions, more everything. This confused the Norwegian even more, made him feel oddly uncomfortable in the other man's presence. He glanced over his shoulder at Tony, who was staring at him with a kind of quiet, mild intensity. "What time ams it?"

"Eleven at night. You've been sleeping a lot." he answered simply, an odd smile on his face. "C'mon, kid, it won't do any good for you to go running away for Pickles in the middle of the night, not knowing where you are. Just c'mere and watch some t.v. with me, okay?" he motioned to the small, torn couch and said coaxingly, as if he were trying to attract the attention of a cat or dog, "C'mon, c'mere. It'll be fine, you'll see. He'll come back in a few hours and you won't have to worry no more."

"H-Hows ams you just sos _okay _with this?" Toki demanded, narrowing his eyes at Tony.

"Okay with what?"

"He coulds be out there getting shot or-"

He chuckled and said under his breath, "Not likely. More likely that he's stuck in some sleazy back-alley getting so stoned that he can't stand up straight."

"_Whats?"_

"C'mon, you must've known that he did drugs when you got with him."

Toki reddened and nodded. "Ja, buts I didn't know that it was likes _this."_

"I get it, trust me I do, but there isn't anything we can do to help him right now." Tony said soothingly, turning his attention back towards the t.v. "We can just wait and mind our own business, now c'mon and siddown. We'll watch something good, like a movie." when Toki complied, he smiled a little and passed him a cigarette, a lighter, and an old, nearly empty bottle of booze.

The Norwegian, not really realizing what he was doing, devoured the booze and smoked four cigarettes before finally calming down. So Pickles went out nearly every night to sell drugs, just to earn enough money to get by? What kind of life was that? Of course Toki felt partially responsible—after all, he was nothing but another mouth to feed. Still, his desire to protect the redhead was an impossibly strong one. What would he do with himself during these late hours of the night, waiting for his love to return home? Then he glanced over at Tony, noticed the other man was carefully observing him, and quickly shifted his gaze back down to the floor.

"Don'ts stare at me." he said coolly.

"Why not? I'm not hurting you, am I?"

"Nos, but-"

"Get used to it, kid. Get used to me, 'cause we're gonna be spending a lotta time together." Tony cut in, lighting himself the last cigarette. His thin, starving frame was sprawled out on his half of the couch lazily. Clearly he wasn't inclined to be shy around new people. Toki began to dislike him.

"You ams from Pickle old band?"

"Yep." he answered, letting out a smoky breath.

"Ands you've known him for yours whole life?"

"Practically."

"So you two ams like best friends?"

"More'n that."

"Ohs." Toki stopped talking then. Just the manner in which the other man answered him—so confidently and unwaveringly, as if he knew a whole world more than Toki—unnerved him, and so he lapsed into a lulling silence. At last Tony broke the silence.

As he pressed the cigarette to his lips and inhaled, he said quietly, "Brothers."

The Norwegian arched a brow and glanced over at him cluelessly. "Huhs?"

"Brothers," Tony repeated, fingering his top hat lovingly, "we're like brothers."

"Oh, okays, then." still, the jealously stabbed at his heart, threatening to infect it fully, but with these carefully chose words he was able to stifle it somewhat. "So you loves him, too?" _Buts never more than I do..._

The dark-haired man snickered softly and slowly turned to face Toki. He had a soft, almost gentle smile on his pale face as he inquired, "What if I do?" when the Norwegian said nothing, he rolled his eyes and said, "Yeah, as a matter of fact I do—_like a brother."_

"Oh." Toki said, "okays."

Two hours of silence followed. Finally the hostility and bitter feelings between them began to melt away when a classic horror movie came onto the television screen—_Nosferatu. _As the black and white, pretty, old-time figures of actors and actresses moved across the screen, Tony began to laugh. Toki did as well. "You like this kinda shit, kid?" Tony asked as he scratched his bare stomach.

"Jas, a lots. Me and Pickle used to watch this kinds of stuff all the times back at the Mordhaus." he smiled thoughtfully.

"The first time he saw the Exorcist, he pissed his pants." the other man said in a serious tone. Toki laughed a this and he added, "God, he was embarrassed—he tried to play it off, but...fuck, that was funny. His face...what a damn idiot..."

They both began laughing hysterically, and for the next several hours they talked about years ago, back when they'd been famous, back when they're names had actually meant something. Back when they'd owned the whole world.

: :: :: ::: : ::: : :: :: :

Eventually Pickles came home. He entered the apartment, threw off his shirt and slipped out of his sneakers and socks—he looked exhausted, totally spent, and he stank like hell. The scent, Toki recognized, was that of smoke, booze, sex and sweat. Immediately he rose up from his seat and went to help the redhead; Pickles rejected his touch and fell on the floor, on top of the mattress of pillows and blankets that he'd made himself earlier. Tony didn't even give him a second glance. He just turned down the volume on the television and asked, "Good night?"

"Pocket." he answered, exhausted.

"Right, okay." Tony glanced over at Toki and instructed almost harshly, "You—in his left back pocket there'll be a few thousand dollars in cash. Put it on the counter."

"Okays." he raced to do as he'd been told, but Pickles reached out and caught his pants leg.

He pulled Toki down onto the floor and instructed, "Kiss me."

Without question, the Norwegian got down on his hands and knees and allowed the redhead to pull him into a lustful, hot kiss. He wanted to gag—the other man's breath tasted like the worst thing in the world. He couldn't even think of what the taste was, all he knew was that it was disgusting. He still bared the disgust until Pickles was done. Once the kiss was ended, he hurried to do as Tony had told him. Still he could hear Pickles talking drowsily on the floor.

"You—asshole, don't _ever _talk to Toki like 'dat, got it? He ain't your slave."

Tony hesitated before saying mildly, "Shut up; you're high."

"Bitch."

"Asshole."

Once Toki had managed to dig the money out of the pocket of Pickles' pants, he put it on the counter then went and retreated back to the t.v. area. He went to sit back on the couch, but again he was stopped. "Here, with me, baby." the redhead said, his voice slightly slurred as he scooted over on the floor. The Norwegian gave into his request and laid down next to him. "Lemme touch you." he whispered in Toki's ear as he hugged him close. Tony just rolled his eyes and threw a blanket on the top of the two lovers.

"Either haul your asses up and use the Private Room, or cover it."

"Uh...shut up. I gatta hellva headache." Pickles slurred, nipping at Toki's ear. "Love you..."

"Uh-huh." he nodded, swallowed, and felt sick with himself. Although he'd waited hours for Pickles to get home and give him this kind of attention, a part of him said that it was disgusting and wrong. After all, he wasn't even sure if the redhead was fully there, which he most likely wasn't. He didn't know exactly why he his heart was beating so sickeningly, but it was, and when Pickles' hands traveled lower, down to the zipper of his jeans and hovered there, he tried to squirm away.

"I want you..."

"Pickle, please nots now."

"...wanna fuck you."

"You ams high right now; I _don't _wants it."

He shook himself, tried to get a grip on his desires, but found himself unable to. "You're so fuckin' sexy...I...I..." he was too tired to continue putting sentences together, so he simply hugged the Norwegian closer to him and began breathing deeply. Toki finally relaxed.

"I loves you, Pickle. I'ms glad you're okay."

"Mmm." he mumbled, burying his face in Toki's hair. "Love you too," he worked up the energy to say in a nearly inaudible voice, weak with exhaustion, "so much...love you...you're so..."

"I'ms what, Pickle?" he asked, squeezing the redhead's hand gently.

"_Warm."_ he had nearly fallen asleep by now, and although the eyes and ears of Tony were on him carefully, he didn't stop himself from saying, "Toki, don't go nowhere."

"I won'ts ever gos nowhere, Pickle, not unless you wants me to."

"N-no...don't...stay here w'me." he held Toki closer to him in a protective way.

"You knows I'll stay with you forevers."

"Good, 'cause I...I..." his voice failed him for a moment and he fell into a doze. In his light sleep he managed to finally get out the words, "I love y'too much to let y'go."

: :: :: ::: : ::: : :: :: :

"Wake up, you lazy queers." Tony announced as he slammed a couple of cups of coffee down on the floor next to Pickles and Toki. The redhead opened his eyes first, then shook Toki awake lightly.

"Wake up, baby. Time t'wake up." although he was still hugging the Norwegian close to him, he didn't hesitate to reach out and grab himself a steaming cup. He blew on it for a long moment, then swallowed a few large sips before taking Toki's cup and pressing it into his hands. "C'man, get _up."_

He opened his pale eyes and saw that there was not only coffee, but a small array of food beside their cozy sleeping spot. Tony stood above them, a small, knowing smile on his face. He stared Toki dead in the eye and asked, "Sleep good, angel?"

"I—whats?" he just asked cluelessly, grabbing a Pop Tart. He ate it quickly, but not before Pickles leaned in and kissed his cheek.

"Hey," the redhead snapped at Tony, "watch your Gad damn mouth around him." There was a distinct air of jealously in his voice; he slipped an arm around Toki's waist and pulled him close, so that they were sitting up shoulder-to-shoulder.

"I was only kidding, fuckface." Tony retaliated, going back over into the kitchen. He began counting the bundle of money that was on the counter to himself. When he was done he turned to the other two men and said with a grin on his face, "Wow, nice job last night. You made enough for the rent and-"

"For somethin' for Toki." he said, running a careful hand thru the Norwegian's long, brown hair. "Somethin' nice for him to wear..."

"No fuckin' way." Tony said, firmly shaking his head. "We need to buy food and gas and and a whole bunch of important stuff."

"He _is _important, you douchebag!" he said in retaliation.

"I don't need anything anyways, Pickle." the Norwegian said, shaking his head and pulling the covers up a little more to cover himself. He was freezing, for some reason. "I don't _wants _anything."

"Don't care, you're getting' somethin' anyways for putting up with me last night." he turned his attention to Tony and asked, "How bad was I last night? Totally fucked up, or—"

"Not half as bad as I expected you to be." he answered, placing the money back on the counter. "You practically raped the kid, though."

"I—oh Gad, did I really try t'fuck him?"

"Nos you didn't, you just-"

"Yeah, nearly pulled out his dick and-"

"Shuts up! It wasn't even his fault!" Toki interrupted, clearly embarrassed at last night's memories. He sipped on his steaming cup of coffee and said confidently to Pickles, "It ams fine, nothing bad really happened, anyways."

This didn't convenience him, though. He sighed deeply, his eyes full of concern. " 'Dat's bullshit and you know it. I'm sorry."

"It ams okay! You were just a littles..."

"Totally fucking stoned."

"Ands maybe a littles..."

"Wasted outta your freaking mind." Tony completed, pouring himself a cup of coffee. He didn't bother to pour cream or sugar into it—he just dug out a bottle of vodka from a cabinet and dumped a good bit of it into the steaming cup.

Pickles let his head fall against Toki's shoulder. He gave the Norwegian a pitiful, sorrowful look and timidly whispered, "I'm so sorry."

The younger man, remembering how horrible he'd felt the night before, tried to forgive him, but found that he wasn't quite able to. He just looked away and shrugged Pickles off. "If it ever happens again I don't know whats I'll do." he warned. "I don't wants to be pushed into anything. I've tolds you that before."

"I'm s-"

"I heard you." he said coolly, drinking some more coffee. "Nows do you hear _me?"_

Pickles nodded and sat up straight. He said, totally ashamed, "Yeah, I hear you, dude." They lapsed into a heavy silence, one which could only be broken by the welcome presence of Tony.

The old singer put down his cup of coffee and vodka, went over to them, and announced, "Well, we do have good news—we're pretty much set for rent money this month."

"And the bad news?" Pickles asked, knowing there was some hidden catastrophe behind it all. Tony glanced over at him and gave him a sort of awkward half-smile.

"Dude, you tried to rape your boyfriend. Isn't that enough bad news for one day?"

His face reddened in anger and he jumped up, threw his hot cup of coffee at the wall, and stormed out of the apartment. Toki stared after him, a concerned look on his young, fair face. "Whats just happened? Where ams he going? Wh-"

"He'll be back." Tony promised, throwing himself down lazily onto the couch. It squeaked violently, but he ignored it and switched on the t.v. Toki just watched him with a clueless look.

"I don'ts...does he do that a lot?"

He chuckled and nodded. "Yeah, all the time. It's 'cause'a all the drugs he's always pumping into his damn body...makes you get really defensive and paranoid. Sometimes he even gets, y'know, violent."

Toki swallowed nervously. "Ja, buts he wouldn't actually hurt us, rights?" when nothing was said to him, he clarified, "Nots _me? _Pickle wouldn't actually hurts me, would he?"

Finally Tony confessed, "There's no telling what he'd do, man." then he gave the Norwegian a sorrowful look and added, "I'm sorry—so sorry—that you have to deal with him like this, but don't worry. If he ever comes at you, I'll protect you."

"Ohs," he said, looking down quickly, trying to hide the tears of pain that were reflecting in his clear, crystal eyes. "okays."

: :: :: ::: : ::: : :: :: :

Pickles stayed out for the rest of the day, but in that time Toki and Tony were able to prepare a halfway decent dinner for his return. By the time he came back, he was totally—almost strangely—placid, and his emerald green eyes hinted at no trace of his former rage. Instead of wasting his energy with anger, he just went over to Toki, pulled him into his arms, and kissed him deeply.

"We're gonna get outta here," he swore, playing with some of the Norwegian's long hair, "I was lookin' for places today—they're expensive, Gad _everything _is so fuckin' expensive, but we can make it an our own, I think."

Toki, still fearful that Pickles would relapse and begin throwing coffee cups all over again, just motioned over to the kitchen area and said charmingly, "We mades you supper."

"You did? Thanks."

And so they all went and sat down in front of the t.v. together. Tony gladly let the two lovers have the couch; he elected to sit down on the floor. Once they were done eating, he announced, "Hey, I got an idea—Pickles, remember when we used to have those movie nights that you liked so much?"

The redhead rolled his eyes and said, "Yeah, s'what, dude?"

"We should have one tonight—just you, me, and the Kid." Tony had taken quite a liking to referring to Toki as 'Kid', mostly because of the reaction he got from it. Like now, how the Norwegian jumped out of Pickles arms, got on the floor, and tried to smother him with a pillow.

"Stops calling me _kid! _I'ms no fucking kid! I'ms an adult! I-"

"Yeah, don't call my girl a kid." Pickles teased, snatching the pillow away from the fuming Norwegian. He gave him a sneaky smile and added, "Trust me, he ain't no kid."

"Ugh, gross gay shit." Tony groaned before rising up and making his way over to the DVD player. He pulled out a stack of old, mostly black and white movies and asserted, "We're gonna let the Kid pick."

Toki rolled his eyes. "I don'ts care what we watch, just stops calling me k-"

"I wanna watch _Frankenstein." _Pickles piped up, taking a seat on the floor next to the Norwegian. Tony inserted the DVD into the player, grabbed the remote, then jumped onto the couch. They were all deathly silent as the beginning credits flashed across the screen. Within half an hour of the old movie Toki was quickly losing focus. He laid down on the floor, snuggled under a blanket, and used Pickles' shoulder for a pillow. The redhead just smiled down at him.

"What, you getting bored already?" once again, they talked without realizing that Tony was listening in on their conversation. Toki just shook his head.

"Nos."

He frowned a little and scooted closer to the younger man. "You okay? You're actin' kinda..."

"Whats?"

"I dunno..." only one word came to his brain then. It seemed impossible, but still he said it anyway. _"Scared."_

Toki just paled in the light that came from the t.v. All was silent as he repeated, "Nos." then a small silence elapsed. Finally he worked up the courage to ask, his voice but a mere whisper in the redhead's ear, "Pickle, cans I ask you something?"

"Yeah." he said, still watching the black and white movie. "Anything, dude."

"Woulds you...I don'ts know...Pickle, woulds you ever hurt me?"

Pickles felt something inside of him become heavy—was it guilt weighing down his heart?-and shook his head. "No, course I wouldn't. I'd die before I'd do 'dat, Toki. Don't you know that?" when he got no response, he met the other man's intense gaze and inquired painfully, "D'you think that I'd ever hurt you?"

"Ja—I means no...I means, ja, I know that you'd nevers do nothing like that, it's just that..."

"What?"

"I..." Toki sighed heavily and closed his eyes, tried to clear his mind. "I can't explains it, but sometimes you scare me."

Pickles felt as though he was about to cry as he slipped an arm around the Norwegian's waist. He pulled him closer, held him to his chest, and reached out to place the covers a bit more over the other man, so that he wouldn't get cold. "I'm sorry," was all he could say, "I'd never do anything to hurt you, nat on purpose." then, without warning, a few tears slipped down his cheeks. Toki became alarmed by this and tried to wipe them away, but Pickles shrank away from his touch. He couldn't stand it, even the mere thought that he scared the other man tore him apart. "Do I really scare you?"

"Nos," he said, shaking his head. "it was just a question, a stupids, dumb question. I'm sorry I asked it."

" 'Cause you know that I love you, right?"

"Ja, of course I knows that."

"And I'd never hurt you?"

"Uh-huh."

"Okay, good, 'cause I can't have you thinkin' for one second that I'd do anything to fuck you up." Pickles said, gently pressing a hand to Toki's cheek. "I'd rather die."


	5. Chapter 5

_**CHAPTER 5: REALITY**_

The next morning Toki awoke to find himself lying in a useless mess of pillows and blankets alone. He sat up and hugged himself against the slight chill that was in the room. Tony noticed that he was awake and brought him a bowl of cereal. "You slept in."he remarked, taking a careful seat next to the Norwegian. He watched Toki eat, his deep, dark eyes shining with something that nearly resembled compassion. "Pickles went to work."

Toki let out a disappointed sigh. "He dids? But didn't you say that we had enough money does the month?"

He nodded before responding with, "Yeah, we do, but he just went out to have an excuse to get fucked up."

The Norwegian felt his heart fill with both anger and an overpowering sense of betrayal-so Pickles was out without him, indulging in drugs and who knew what else? In almost desperation he peered over into Tony's shining eyes and questioned meekly, "Where ams he at?"

Tony seemed taken aback by this question. He shrugged and answered loftily, "I dunno, man. Probably at one of our old hangouts with a few friends."

"But _where _ams he?" suddenly Toki had lost himself. He was pissed at being left in the dark like this. Pickles constantly saying that he loved him, that he didn't want to hurt him, but that's just what he was doing. The other man just jumped a little, surprised at having been yelled at, and shook his head, almost as if he could read the Norwegian's thoughts.

"What does it matter? S'not like you're gonna be going after him."

So that was it, Tony thought of Toki as an incompetent child. In a rage, the Norwegian threw the covers off of his muscular frame and jumped to his feet. Angrily he pulled on one of Pickles' old jackets then marched out the door. Once Tony realized what Toki was doing, he didn't hesitate to curse and rush after him. "Wait a minute, Kid, just-"

"Nos!" Toki cried, whirling around to face him. "You leaves me alone! If you don't want to tells me where Pickle ams, then that's fine. I'll go and finds him myself! I don'ts need you or anyone to helps me!"

"Just hold on!" Tony yelled, finally managing to catch up with the other man. "Look-" he seized Toki's hand and pulled him in the direction of the room. "-Pickles told me-made me swear-to keep you out of trouble, and if you go after him, that's all you'll find."

"I don'ts care!" he declared, pushing Tony away roughly, "I just wants to find him, to makes sure that he ams okay! I just don't understand how you can 'care' abouts him so much if all you do is just let him do whatever he wants!"

The older man just let out a tired sigh, but ended up ultimately nodding in agreement. He realized then that Toki was in love-stupid, delusional love-and if this is what it took to convince him that the Pickles he knew was long dead, then this is what had to be done. He saw no other way. In order to protect the Kid as he'd been told to do, he'd have to push him down and rub his nose in the dirt—he'd have to show him the worst of the life that they lived, the frightening severity of Pickles' emotional spiral into oblivion. Of course Tony himself cared about the redhead more than anyone or anything else, but what could he do against the kind of mindless cycle of addiction that Pickles had gotten himself into? In the end, he was powerless—so was Toki and anyone else who tried to care. Tony had realized this long ago, and it was time he made the Kid realize the same thing.

"Okay, fine. You win, I'll take you to wherever he is...we'll track him down, but you'll need to gimme a minute."

"Whys?"

"So I can go get my keys."

: :: :: ::: : ::: : :: :: :

They were both awkwardly silent in the car. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Tony was still pissed at having been dragged out into the city at this hour, when the headlights of other cars and the glowing marquee delights of the nighttime blinded them. It was dark now, almost excruciatingly so, and with each passing moment Toki felt his anxiety about Pickles becoming greater and greater; as they pulled into the parking lot of some old motel, he felt himself about to pass out. He couldn't breathe, couldn't even see clearly as he struggled to unbuckle his seat belt. Tony reached out and pulled his hand away, shaking his head firmly.

"No, you stay in here. I'll go inside."

"Buts-"

"You won't like what you see."

Toki paled as he realized that he had no choice but to nod and squeeze the other man's wrist tightly, trying in vain to get some kind of reassurance. "P-Please hurry up; I thinks I'm going to be sick."

"Don't worry, this won't take long." he assured him, getting up out of the car. He locked the door and took the keys with him. Toki waited for what seemed like hours. He wished with everything in him that the other man had left the keys in the ignition, so that he could at least have some air conditioning and music to keep his mind off things. He couldn't even crack a window open to get some air. He felt as though he was being smothered under the weight of his mounting worry.

In a while, though, Tony came back over to the car, carrying a red-haired man over his broad shoulders. He unlocked the doors, opened up the door to the back seat, then threw Pickles inside unceremoniously. Toki immediately snapped out of his sickened daze and tried to crawl in the back seat and join him, but Tony let out a sound of discouragement, caught him, and forced him angrily back in his place.

"I don't wanna see you move from this spot, do you understand me?"

"But Pickle, he ams-"

"Sick, he's really sick, and when he's like this I never wanna see you near him, do you understand me?" his normally calm voice had taken on a whole new, more frightening severity. Toki still resisted him, though. He reached out, took Pickles' hand, and squeezed it.

The redhead just covered his eyes and let out a drunken, horribly slurred, "Tonnnnnnnyyyy..."

"I'm here, right here." he said, pushing Toki away. "Whadda want?"

"Make me better."

"Just shut your fuckin' mouth. We're driving home now, okay?"

Toki glared at him in jealous hatred and announced, "He ams _mine, _so why can'ts I-"

"You idiot, when he's like this he isn't yours or mine or anyone else's!" Tony howled, climbing in his own seat and slamming the car door. "He's a different person, a fuckin' danger to everybody."

"He doesn't look dangerous, he looks like he ams about to die! He needs a doctor!" Tony ignored his pleas and simply backed out of the parking lot. This only served to make Toki angrier; he lashed out, but the other man slammed him back into his seat with little effort.

"Listen, you don't understand. We need to get him _home. _I've dealt with this a hundred times before, and all he needs is to just lay down for a bit and-"

"Ams he high?"

"Yeah, out of his fucking mind, and drunk too; you can smell the puke on his breath."

"He looks like he ams dying!" Toki exclaimed, glancing in the back seat at Pickles, who had turned a sickly pale and was fitfully napping. "Ams he O. or something?"

"Shut up and siddown so we can get home!" Tony cried, gritting his teeth. He tried to get a handle on himself as Toki continued to yell in his ear; somehow he managed to guide the car thru traffic. Suddenly he felt a warm hand touch his cheek, and for a moment he thought it was the Norwegian, but when he glanced in the rear view mirror he saw that it was actually Pickles. The redhead had been jostled from his sleep and was clinging to Tony in desperation.

"Love you." he murmured, his breath reeking of vomit and alcohol.

"Shut up and sit down!" he howled, shrinking away from the other man's touch. Toki just watched this display and finally quieted down. He felt like an idiot. So Pickles was still in love with Tony after all? Why was he even here, then? Clearly he was just a horrible burden to everyone around him, so what was his purpose? If he didn't belong with Pickles, then where should he be?

: :: :: ::: : ::: : :: :: :

Once they'd managed to get home and carry Pickles up the stairs to the apartment, Tony quickly used the phone to call a friend. Toki watched him with boiling hatred in his eyes. He'd never forget what he'd seen in the car, never be able to trust Pickles again. Now he sat on the floor with his love's head in his lap. He gently ran his fingers thru the other man's dreadlocks, whispered to him comfortingly, and eventually was able to coax Pickles into a fitful sleep. The redhead still didn't appear to be getting better; this worried him greatly. Pickles was sweating so much that his clothes were plastered to his skinny, quaking frame. He was pale and very cold. Tony saw all of this and quickly motioned for Toki to get up, which he did. Without a trace of care, he scooped Pickles up into his arms and carried him into the bathroom. Before closing the door, he turned to Toki and demanded coolly, "Don't you dare come in here."

The Norwegian sat down on the floor again and tried to do as he'd been told, but when seconds he heard the sounds of gagging and vomiting, he rushed to his feet and burst into the small room. Tony was holding Pickles close to him, murmuring in his ear, "Ssh...don't try to fight it, just puke all that crap up..."

"What ams you doing?"

"Making him sick." he said simply, holding back Pickles' hair as the redhead vomited again into the toilet. Toki began to shake with anger. What was wrong with this man?

"Why ams you making him puke?"

Tony gently wiped the sickness away from Pickles mouth before sticking his finger down the man's throat once again. "Makes him puke up all the bad shit that he forced down his fuckin' throat."

"Buts-"

"Shut up!" he suddenly screamed, running a hand along Pickles' cheek comfortingly. This was it, he'd reached the limits of his seemingly endless placidity and coolness.

"I wanna go home." the redhead sobbed. "I'm sorry, so fuckin' sorry...Tony don't leave..."

"Shut up; you know I'm never gonna leave." then he turned his attention back to the still livid Toki and explained with a new found calmness, "Listen, Kid, I'm sorry—I know you're probably confused, and I'll explain it all later once the doctor gets here."

"You called a doctor?"

"Yeah, sure, now listen here—if I wouldn't have made him puke up all that shit, he would've died." Tony said, intertwining his fingers in Pickles red hair. "Now the best thing you can do is go outside and wait for the doctor to get here. I'll take care of him."

_But it ams not _your _job to takes care of him, it ams mine! _Toki thought emptily as he exited the bathroom. Once he'd left, Tony returned his attention to Pickles. Gently he kissed the other man's cheek. "It's okay, man, I'm right here and I won't go anywhere."

"P-Please...sorry, so sorry..." he began vomiting again, and the other man continued to hold his hair back.

"I know, but don't be. It's not your fault, it's all that shit you do to yourself...you can't help it, I know...the Kid's scared, though."

Pickles fell back into Tony's arms and swallowed. His emerald eyes drifted closed for a moment as he whispered lovingly, "Kid—Toki? Dude, I love him s'much...don't let him see."

"I won't."

"Don't let'm see me like 'dis."

"It's okay, I won't."

" 'Cause I love him and I wanna-" he gagged and said before passing out, "-gonna be with him f'ever..."

: :: :: ::: : ::: : :: :: :

About half an hour later a man entered the small apartment and hurried to see Pickles. Toki arched a brow and asked Tony skeptically, "So _he _ams a doctor?"

"Shut up." he responded curtly. The man looked like no doctor that the Norwegian had seen before; he had long hair, skinny jeans, and in general he just appeared to be another metal-head. His feelings of uneasiness grew as he watched the man press a hand to Pickles' forehead.

"Why didn't you take him to the hospital if he was in such shitty condition?" the stranger finally asked, peering carefully into Tony's face. "Would've been better for him."

"We ain't got the money for that; you know our situation."

He just shrugged and then glanced over at Toki. "Who's the kid?"

"I'ms-"

"Unimportant." Tony said, waving away this question. He ignored the deadly look that the Norwegian gave him and instructed to the man, "Hey, I don't care what you do, just make sure he'll be up and walking around tomorrow, okay?"

"But-"

"Thanks. I'll play you later." Tony said. He exited the Private Room and left Pickles alone to rest.

Time slowly passed. Toki's anxiety began to grow again as he glanced over at the locked door. Obviously Tony had forbid him from disturbing Pickles and the doctor, so he was left to be alone and miserable. Finally he worked up the courage to clear his throat and ask moodily, "What ams taking him so long? I wants to see Pickle."

"Shut it." Tony demanded, adjusting his top hat so that it fully covered his eyes. He laid back on the couch and tried to get some sleep, but just as he began to doze off, the doctor finally exited the Private Room and walked over to him.

As the two talked, Toki was able to quietly slip into the Private Room. Pickles was lying on the bed nestled under layers of covers, his eyes closed and his skin pale and sweaty. The Norwegian hurriedly snuck over to where he was and sat on the bed beside him. He took the older man's hand and was utterly silent, careful not to disturb the peace of the room. This proved useless, though.

"I told them nat to let you in here." Pickles said at last, letting out a labored sigh. He opened his emerald eyes a crack just so he could get a clear look at Toki's pale and flawless face. At that moment, as the last traces of his near-O.D. were busy evacuating his worn and broken frame, the younger man seemed to be the most beautiful sight in the world; this almost made it possible to ignore the hurt look in the Norwegian's eyes.

He looked down at the ground and struggled to say without his voice breaking, "I wanteds to see you, though. I _hads _to see you."

"I didn't want you to every see me like 'dis." the redhead murmured, reaching up and pressing a hand to Toki's cheek. "I'm sorry I put you thru so much. I'm nat surprised f'you hate me."

"No, of course I don't hates you. I thought you was the ones whats hated me." he said sorrowfully, recalling the time before when Pickles had said so tenderly, 'Love you, Tony...don't leave me, Tony...'

The redhead shook his head at this and sat up. He stretched and said somewhat deliriously, "Nah, no way, dude. I love you, you're the only one in the world for me." it was clear that although he was in a much more stable condition than before, this didn't mean that his mind was back to normal. The drugs and alcohol were still taking a heavy toll on him; all the 'doctor' had been able to accomplish was to get his heart rate to stabilize and to get him sobered up a mere fraction. This had done little good, but it did ensure that he'd most likely not die of an overdose.

Toki didn't realize all of this, though. In his mind Pickles was still his old, funny, sweet self. He gently laid his head in the drummer's lap. The other man just locked his green eyes onto the Norwegian and shook his head. "No," he said, feeling his temper rising, "get out. I don't want you in here."

"Buts-"

"_Gad damn it, you're nat supposed to see me like this!" _he howled, pushing the younger man off of the bed roughly. Toki stood up and glared down at him.

"I don't know what ams your problem, but gets over it! I'm staying in here whether you wants me to or nots! I-"

"Tony...where's Tony?"

"Whats?" he felt his face turning red as he leaned in a little closer to the redhead. "Tony ams not here, he ams not important, Pickle! I'ms here, I wants to take care of you, so just lay down and gos back to sleep! I'll make sure nothing bad ever happens to you again."

"Don't you get it?" Pickles asked venomously, narrowing his eyes at Toki. "You don't know me. I'm _always _like this, there's no getting better!"

"Yeah there ams—stops will all the drugs!"

Without warning, the redhead had lashed out and slapped Toki across the face. "Get the fuck outta here! I want Tony!"

The Norwegian simply staggered back against the wall, covering his face with his hands. Part of him couldn't believe what had just happened—Pickles would never hit him, not _his _Pickles, not the sweet, careful drummer that he'd once spent years trying to be friends with. This was someone totally different. He could barley feel himself crying as he slowly inched his way over to the door. The look reflecting in his love's eyes was one of terrifying insecurity and detachment. The redhead seemed to have lost himself, to not even remember whether he was awake or alive, and this confusion only fueled his rage. Who was this? Who was _he? _Toki's hand began to shake, and as it came in contact with his own cheek, felt the searing-hot pain that now tainted the fair skin, he felt dizzy. Every nerve within him was howling with a kind of horrible warning. _Get away, _his body screamed, _this isn't him. This isn't anything that resembles him; it's some new kind of monster..._

Without hesitation he fled and hurried back into the living room area. He was sobbing as he found Tony and the doctor. He couldn't help but to crawl over and lay his head in Tony's lap; the older man flinched away from his touch, yet his deep, shimmering eyes filled with something of concern when he noticed that the younger man was crying. Gently he lifted Toki's face up into the light so he could better see him. His index finger traced the light bruise that was beginning to form around the Norwegian's right eye.

"What the fuck...who did this?" when he said nothing, Tony said to his doctor friend, "Would you watch him, please?"

"Yeah, sure, but what's-"

"I'll kill him." he spat vengefully, rising to his feet. Upon hearing this, Toki latched onto him, tried to pull him back over onto the couch.

"Don'ts, he didn't means it!"

Tony turned and said angrily, "Fuck yeah, he did! That bastard's always like this, and usually it's okay if he gets a few licks in on me, but _you? _He said he...he's..." he was shaking with fury, but at the terrified look on the younger man's face he managed to calm down enough to explain, "Look, he took you away, made you give up your family, and live here in this fuckin' poor, shitty apartment for what? So he could drink and get high and beat on you? Fuck that shit, you didn't come here for that. I'll kill him."

"Nos, d-"

"Keep him in here, Tony?" the doctor asked, wrapping his arms loosely around Toki's waist in an effort to hold him down.

The man nodded and said, "Yeah, and make sure that he stays away from Pickles."

Before Toki could manage to pull himself out of the doctor's grip, Tony was already slamming things around in the Private Room. Yelling echoed thruout the small apartment, and although most of it was mingled together, some things could be picked out of the chaos. Tony was shouting over and over, "You fuckin' prick, you hit him! If you ever lay a finger on him again..."

"Whadda care? He's _mine, _and he doesn't mind! He's used to getting beat on, so who cares?"

"I'll kill you!"

"Stops!" Toki shrieked, "Just everybody stops this right now!"

And all the noise ceased. Tony came out of the Private Room, his knuckles bloody, his face bearing the marks of being hit. He seemed to be the strongest, bravest man alive, then. He went over to the doctor and instructed, "You, haul Pickles outta that room and make his sorry ass sleep on the floor tonight—I can't even look at his face for another second." He quickly nodded and hurried to do as he was told. Once that was done, he was bid farewell. Finally Tony turned to Toki and said sadly, "I'm sorry you had to see this, Kid."

"Buts—hey!" he exclaimed as he was dragged into the Private Room, "Stops it! I wants to be with him!"

"Please just quit it, already!" the older man pleaded, slamming and locking the door. "I can't stand it, you and him...why do you insist on making this the hardest fucking thing that I've ever had to do?"

Toki suddenly felt ashamed with himself. He allowed his body to relax, and he willingly went over and planted himself on the bed. "I'ms sorry," he said, looking down at the floor, his voice full of disgrace, "to gives you such a hard time, but-"

"I just don't get it," Tony confessed, kicking off his boots haphazardly. He wandered over and laid down next to the Norwegian, but didn't give him a second glance. Instead he rubbed his eyes, which were smudged with eyeliner, and breathed tiredly, "I just don't get it."

"Gets what?"

"Why Pickles would choose a kid like you."

"Excuse me?" Toki asked, his temper flaring up yet again. He glared over at Tony and hissed, "What do you means by _that? _That I'ms not good enoughs, or that I'ms too immature?"

"Forget it." Tony said, shaking his head. "You wouldn't understand."

"Understands what?"

Tony bit his lower lip, tried to control himself as he cried out hopelessly, "Damn it, I don't get why he chose you to be with! What the hell does he see in you other than just someone to fuck around with? I don't get why he had to choose you, the stupidest, most ignorant kid ever, to fuck up. If it was anyone else..." he began tearing up just then, and he turned away and wiped his eyes. "S'not fair to you, it's not fair of him to make you see this. He should've let you go, and that's what he would've really done if he actually loved you. He would've let you go back and live a better life in wherever it is you came from."

Toki swallowed and said coldly, "You don'ts know anything abouts where I'm from."

"And apparently you don't know anything about what he is." the older man explained, sitting up and removing his top hat. He gently placed it on the little table beside the bed before continuing. "His brain is so fucked up...he's letting it rot...I worry about him so damn much, but sometimes I've just gotta make myself stop, 'cause I'm not doing anything by worrying, just killing myself..." his voice trailed off. It seemed as though he was speaking more to himself than to anybody else. Toki decided to change the subject. He felt a sort of overwhelming sympathy and compassion for the other man, and scooted a little closer to him. This is what he'd wanted from the beginning, someone who he could talk to and connect with. Couldn't Pickles give him that, or was he too far gone to even care?

He tried to think of something to say and came up with, "Your hat, why do you loves it so much? Where did you gets it?"

Tony gave him a little smile, a genuine one for once. It wasn't one full of contempt or anything like that, it was simply an expression of happiness. Was the simple act of knowing that someone cared about his life so rewarding? Either way, in the dim light of the room, Tony appeared almost handsome then. Although his face was as deathly pale as it always had been, Toki realized that the man's ebony hair had been washed that day, and it looked silky and smooth. It framed his thin face beautifully, and made his dark, emotional eyes shine with a new light that they'd never possessed before. It was only now, as Toki truly took the time to observe him, that he realized that the man had passionate, nearly black eyes. He looked away, feeling the color rising to his face as he recalled just how Pickles' eyes looked. Could he even remember a time when the redhead hadn't been high or drunk? The more time he spent with Tony, the foggier his mind became, the less his eyes were able to focus on other things besides the other man's slim figure.

_I wants to know everything abouts him, _he thought, though he chastised himself for doing so. What did he care about the other man? The only person in the world that he had any feelings for whatsoever was his only love, the one who kept his heart beating and his mind in the right place—Pickles. Still, he hung on to Tony's every word. "I got it from a little corner store back in my hometown. I was about thirteen when I passed it in the old, shitty shop." he explained, thoughtlessly beginning to twist some of his own hair around his index finger. He did this as a sort of nervous habit when he was talking to someone new. "And, well, I'd just gotten into real music and started listening to _Guns 'N Roses, _and stuff like that, and my favorite guitarist, Slash, had a hat kinda like that one, so I just walked in, picked it up, and walked out again. I was scared shitless that I'd get caught, but I never did."

Toki grinned. "Sos you stole it?"

"Yeah, guess so."

"That ams totally metal."

"Yeah, well whatever. It isn't a big deal." he distractedly glanced over at the locked door and said after a moment, "It's late, Kid. You need sleep."

"Buts-"

"Shut up and don't back talk me." he instructed kindly, removing his black leather vest. He threw it down on the floor before crawling under the covers himself. Toki just sat there, his cheeks scarlet.

"You ams sleeping with me?"

"Where else am I gonna go?"

"It ams just that if Pickle knew, he'd-"

"Then let's make sure that he doesn't find out, okay, Kid?" Tony suggested, pulling the covers up to cover his bare chest. After taking a moment to evaluate the unsure look on the younger man's face, he finally sighed and swore, "I'm not gonna do anything if that's what you're afraid of. I'm not _that _sick, and I'm definitely not a queer. I have a girlfriend."

"You dos?"

"Well..." he hesitated before admitting, "kinda...it's a joint-custody kinda thing...got married twice, divorced each time."

"Ohs. I'm sorry."

Toki sensed a hint of pain in the other man's voice as he heard him respond, "Whatever, it's not like I care anyway, it's just the kids...anyway, just shut up and go to bed."

"Okays." he said, getting under the covers as well. He ended up taking off his shirt, but this couldn't be helped—he never slept with a shirt on, and he couldn't go to sleep unless he wasn't wearing one. He also took off his boots before laying down and finally allowing sleep to overtake him.

Once he was sure that Toki had slipped off to sleep, Tony rolled over to face him. He studied the kid's face with the utmost care; his caramel-colored hair, so wondrously long and lush, was in the way, slightly covering his features. Tony couldn't have that, so he gently reached over and moved some of it aside. He was surprised to find that his hands were shaking. What was it about the Kid that made him like this? He'd sensed his growing attraction for Toki ever since Pickles had introduced them to each other. He wanted to kill himself for being drawn to his best friend's lover so strongly, but he couldn't help it. The way the Kid laughed, the way his eyes reflected an intoxicating sense of innocent wonder, and even the way his body moved when he walked turned him on in an unbelievable way. Tony knew that Pickles would kill him if he so much as thought of Toki in a sexual way, but he didn't care, not then as he watched the younger man sleep so securely like that. He'd seen how safe Pickles had made the Norwegian feel just by hugging him, and Tony wondered what it would feel like if he was pressed that close to the kid as well. Would their bodies fit together so flawlessly? Could he bring the other man the same kind of comfort and security, just by whispering to him and holding him in his arms?

Tony smiled to himself as he wrapped his arms around the Norwegian and pulled him close—so unimaginably, perfectly close—and wasn't the least bit surprised to find that his body molded perfectly against the other man's. He closed his eyes and dared to whisper in the younger man's ear, "I'm sorry."

He let out a tired little moan and allowed his eyes to open a crack. He didn't' struggle to free himself from the other man's touch, only asked shyly, "Fors what?"

"Making you think twice."

"Huh?" he asked, far to sleepy to riddle this out.

Tony smiled and kissed Toki's forehead. "For making you think twice about how much you love Pickles." he then pressed his lips to the Norwegian's, holding none of his passion back. His tongue entered the mouth of the younger man's, licking and insisting that they delve deeper into these unexplored attractions. He prodded Toki's tongue and became entangled with it, until all he could do was pull away and demand more. He kissed him again and again, allowed his hands to travel across Toki's hot skin.

Finally, minutes later, he was able to control his lust enough to break away and say, "He loves you, y'know."

"Whos?"

"Pickles."

He looked away and responded doubtfully, "I'ms not so sure anymore."

Tony felt his heart aching for the other man. The horribly sorrowful way that the kid spoke, the way in which his words were filled with misery, made him begin to tear up. The younger man almost seemed hopeless, more than sure that everything he could ever do wouldn't be enough to secure Pickles' heart. Perhaps he was right.

Tony's callused hands rested on the Norwegian's thighs. He didn't quit-the reaction that he got from the other man was simply too amazing to just abandon completely-despite his better judgment. He knew that now would be the opportune moment to back out and regain his senses, to save all of them a whole world of pain, but he just couldn't. There was some horrifying hold that the other man had over him, and he probably wouldn't have quit then even if Toki had begged him to. "I'll give you what he can't," he murmured, kissing Toki's neck, "I'll treat you better than he ever could."

Toki almost believed that he could. He missed the old Pickles, the one who had liked drugs, but not been overpowered by them. The missed the drummer, the man who he could mess with and joke with and talk to. Toki didn't allow himself to be overtaken by Tony's charm that easily, though; he hugged the other man tightly, but couldn't fail to notice how warm and secure he felt in the other man's arms. Hadn't Pickles once been able to protect him and warm him like this? Yes, but that had been what seemed like ages ago. Now, as he pressed a hand to Tony's muscular chest and felt the older man's toned arms hold him, his face grew hot.

"I miss hims." he said at last, his eyes filling with tears.

Tony gave him a sympathetic look and kissed his cheek. "I know, so do I." his lips grazed Toki's neck, his chest, licking and demanding more. "You don't have to tell him, y'know."

"Maybes you should keeps me safe." Toki suggested, closing his pale eyes, feeling pleasure race down to his growing erection.

Tony kissed him and replied, "You were made for me, Toki...you were made to let me fuck you."

"Maybes I was." he said this, but didn't truly believe it. In his heart he knew that he still longed for Pickles, that a greater half of his soul belonged to the redhead, and that this was only some kind of sick act of rebellion.

It was an odd thing, but the more that he was with Tony that night, and the more he exposed his body to him, the greater a sense of self-hatred became. His faith and trust in the other man also disappeared, as did many feelings of attraction that he'd had for him. True, Tony had managed to slim down and tone up since his last appearance on t.v.—his stomach was flat like Pickles', but more muscular, as was the rest of his body—but for some reason this began to repel Toki. In the end it took all he had to climax. He didn't want this. He wanted the drugs and alcohol to disappear, for Pickles and himself to just be together and make slow, sweet love every night...

"Are you afraid?" the older man asked breathlessly as he sat up and put some strands of drenched, black hair behind his ears. It was done, and all Toki had the strength to do was lay there panting, his body aching. He was gripping the sheets of the bed so hard that his knuckles were white; his arms quaked with effort of holding onto the fabric with such force. Tony let a look of deep concern flash across his ageless face as he noticed this; carefully, he leaned closer to Toki. His breath felt impossibly hot against the younger man's neck. "Go to sleep."

And, without restraint, he did.


End file.
